Uncharted Waters
by Felicity A. Holmes
Summary: Pirate/Greek Mythology AU. If there was  a third genre it would be Humor.  Blaine Anderson hadn't planned on getting kidnapped by pirates and held for ransom, but sometimes you just had to go with it. And hopefully not end up dead.
1. Struck By Lightening: A Prologue

**Disclaimer for entire story: I don't own Glee or pirate ships (oh, how I would love to own a musical pirate ship), so it is safe to assume that I am not RIB.**

**Or Blackbeard.**

There was loud crashing sound as lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the thick black clouds and the torrential downpour. Rain was sloshing down onto the decks of the_ Warbler_ in sheets and crewmen scampered about on deck shouting orders and obscenities to one another as they tried to keep her steady.

"Blaine!" David raced clumsily towards the hazel-eyed boy his boots skidding on the deck. "Captain says to get bellow deck. This storm isn't letting up anytime soon and-"

The white sails were illuminated by a flash of lightning and there was another loud rumble. David yelped and covered his face with his hands. Blaine grabbed his arms and shoved him towards the cabin door shouting. "Go down before me! Let me get Wes, alright? He shouldn't be up here either."

"Blaine, he's the Captain-"

"And God knows that was a mistake, because he's no older than I am and he has about as much experience at sea as that ridiculous parrot of his."

David snorted. "I'm not sure what I'm more afraid of," he called over the sounds of the wind, "the storm, or Wes' face if he hears you bad mouthing Pavarotti!"

Blaine laughed and turned to look for the boy in question, scanning the quarterdeck for signs of his unwaveringly faithful yellow parrot.

A wave crashed against the side causing the boat to rock and the two boys were effectively knocked of their feet. Blaine yelped as they slammed up against the sides of the ship and ran a hand through his dark curls, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "Ow! Bloody-"

"David!" There was the voice Blaine had been looking for. He turned his head to see an out-stretched arm and a shoulder with a bundle of yellow feathers on it. "I told you to get him bellow deck!"

"Working on it!" shouted David who was scrambling to his feet. "The boat had other ideas!"

"It's a ship," Blaine muttered half-heartedly, accepting Wes' hand and letting him pull me to my feet. "Wes, come into the cabin with us! This is insane!"

Wes' dark eyes were wide and worrying. "I _know_ that, damn it, but my father put me in charge and-"

"Wes! He may have put you in charge, but he doesn't want you dead! Let Thad handle it! You're seventeen for Christ's sakes. What do you even know about this sort of thing?"

Wes looked like he was deliberating for a few seconds, but he shook his head and shrugged his shoulder up. Pavarotti squawked indignantly and found a new perch with David, pecking at the dark skin of his hand when he reached up to pat his beak—"Damn it, Wesley!"—and attempting to unsuccessfully shake the rain from his feathers. "No, I can't," he looked Blaine levelly in the eye. "This is my responsibility and I'm not passing it off to anyone. If I don't get you to Port safely Governor Anderson will _eat _me." He offered a weak smile. "Get below deck. Now. Put Pav in his cage and wait in my cabin."

Before Blaine could protest there was another crack of lightning and a roll of thunder even closer together than usual this time and Wes was shoving him forwards. "Go, Blaine! Stop being so god damn noble!"

David threw the ornately carved wouldn't door open and the wind blew it into the wall with a sharp _BANG!_ sound. He pushed Blaine inside as he shot one last look over his shoulder to see Wes, his hat blown off to God knows where in the storm, struggling to hold rope in place with Thad's help before the door was slammed shut again and the noise was cut off.

"Come on." David moved through the small hallway, which was lit only by a faintly shining oil lamp rocking back and forth on the ceiling. Blaine followed close behind him stumbling a little as the _Warbler_ rocked again and pushed his way through into Wes' cabin where David set Pavarotti into his golden cage before sitting down on the chair and chewing his lip nervously.

Blaine sat on the edge of the bed and looked anxiously out the large glass window where water was crashing up violently. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"

"Wes?" David asked. "Yeah, he'll be fine. I'm sure of it."

Except he didn't sound sure.

There was silence in the cabin and all that could be heard was the muffled booming of the thunder and faint shout of orders from up on deck until suddenly there was a very definitive CRACK that Blaine barley had time to register before David was diving off his chair and knocking him to the floor as what he assumed was the mast crashed heavily down through the ceiling and onto the bed where he had been sitting just moments ago.

"CHRIST!"

"Blaine! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Are you?"

"I think so. What the Hell just happened?"

"I don't know!"

"_Squawk! Christ!"_

"Shut UP, Pavarotti!"

Blaine pushed himself to his feet examining the wreckage of the Captain's quarters as the rain pounded through the gaping hole created by the mast. He heard feet rushing around on the deck and then there were heads peering down into the room and Wes was jumping in and screaming something that sounded like, "Blavid! Daine! Thank God!" and he and David were being crushed in a tight (and soaking wet) embrace.

"Wes," choked David, "I can't- breathe!"

Wes squished them harder.

"Captain!" Wes released them and Blaine sucked in deep breathes of cool, damp air and shared a glance with David who was massaging his arm where Wes had jammed it against him. "What are we going to do about the mast? We can't make Port like this. _Warbler_ lost 2 of her sails in one go."

We sucked in a breathe as everyone stared at him waiting for orders. He looked absolutely terrified for a few seconds before he set a strong face in his place. "Keep her steady as possible for tonight. We'll calculate our position once the clouds clear off and decide what to do from there." His voice was resolute, but he shot a questioning look to Thad who nodded almost imperceptibly at him. "Yes. Right. All hands on deck! Take your orders from Tha- From Mr. Watson! All of you! Go now!"

Blaine and David move to go through the hall, but Wes put out a hand to stop them. "Not you two. I think you've nearly died enough times for one night."

"Just once!" Blaine objected (and right, maybe that had been a bad defense, because Wes was raising his eyebrow at him like he was insane), "and besides, David saved me!" He turned to David. "Thank you for that, by the way. I really didn't want to be crushed by a mast."

"Duly noted." David smiled weakly. "You're welcome."

_"Squawk! Welcome!"_

"God damn it, you irritating little parrot-"

"Blaine!" Wes admonished, "Don't insult my bird. Now, come with me. We're going down to the brig and I'm going to make sure you two aren't dead by morning."

"The _brig_?"

"My apologies, Blaine. Would you rather be crushed by another mast?"

Blaine sighed and rolled his eyes as Wes undid the latch on Pavarotti's cage. The bird immediately hopped into it's rightful place on his shoulder and settled down.

This was going to be a long night.


	2. The Hudmmel

**Thanks for all of the reviews you guys! I really appreciate it. **** I'm so sorry that I'm taking so long in between updates, but I'm absolutely**_** floored**_** with schoolwork lately. If it takes me until summer to finish this (please, don't kill me) I'm sure the wait in between chapters will greatly decrease.**

**For now I invite you to do useful things like read **_**Dalton **_**by CP Coulter to amuse yourselves or to watch **_**Glee **_**(oh, February, how I love thee greatly) or to daydream lovingly about Blaine while doodling his name and yours in a heart with a bright red pen just in case the audience has forgotten your in love with him between now and your last scene.**

**What? I said nothing.**

When Blaine woke up on the damp, unpleasant floor the next morning he discovered two things. The first being that _God damn, _his back hurt and the second that neither Wes, David nor Pavarotti (thank merciful heavens) was with him.

After a few minutes of groaning and stretching his back Blaine decided that he never wanted to sleep in a brig ever again.

Stupid brig.

He ran a hand aimlessly through his dark curls before heading up to the deck to join the crew in assessing the damage. Everybody was already on deck and the sun was just starting to peak over the grayish ocean. The gentle waves (now eerily calm after the previous night's storm) were the only things that penetrated the silence as the crewmen quietly assessed the damage done. The mast was broken off in large splinters at it's base. It was cracked in two and crashed through the roof of Wes' cabin and, just to make everyone even more pessimistic, the wheel on the poopdeck right above it. Wes and David were standing next to it on what remained of the cabin roof and Wes was staring moodily down at the water beneath it like he wished it would just rise up and drown him.

He moved to stand with them silently, brushing past Thad (who had the Bird of Eternal Torment sitting on his left shoulder) on his way up.

"How bad is it?" Blaine asked quietly.

David shot him an incredulous look and Wes murmured something that sounded like, "eye-ate duh whirled."

"I mean," Blaine clarified, "I'm generally aware of the fact that we can't sail like this, but how doomed are we? Is there any chance of another ship seeing us or-"

"Judging by what little navigation system we have after that nightmare of a storm we should- emphasis on should- be somewhere near Port Edward right now, which is where we need to be, so there's a chance a nearby fishing boat might see us and bring help."

"But you don't have high hopes?" Blaine guessed.

"No," said Wes. "No, I don't." He sighed, sinking to his knees and leaning against the remains of the mast (which creaked in a rather discomforting manner) and put his head in his hands. "My father is going to_ kill_ me."

"Don't say that, Wes." I dropped to the ground next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. "I'm sure he wont blame you."

"You're right." Wes looked up at me through distressed brown eyes. "He wont get a chance to. He'll be to busy morning my death after _your _father fillets me and feeds me to his purebreds."

"Cheer up, Wes," said David. "Governor Anderson wouldn't blame a lightening storm on you." He smiled at Blaine conspirationaly. "Besides, horses don't even_ like_ eating humans. We're too salty."

Blaine snorted.

"This is _not _funny! Take it seriously or go back to the brig."

Blaine raised a triangular eyebrow. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"Um… yes? I think. Yes. I'm the Captain." He sighed. "Which brings me back to my original point. I screwed up. My father has worked _so hard_ to prove that I can do whatever a 'Real Englishman' can, but I can't even get you across an ocean."

Blaine winced and shared a glance with David. Wes' father James Hughes was a judge with a fondness for traveling. He'd left for Asia seventeen years ago and come back home with a wife (deemed 'exotic' by the high society ladies in the circles she now ran in) and Wes, who had attended school with Blaine back in England. Mr. Hughes was a good friend of Blaine's father and after finally getting the arrangements made for the trip to America he'd handed Wes his first ever gavel and told him to make him proud.

"Nobody can blame you for this."

"Easy for you to say, Anderson."

David frowned at Blaine and put an arm around Wes' shoulders. "I'll talk to him. You go see if you can do anything."

Blaine sighed and nodded, moving away from Wes and casting one last reassuring glance over his shoulder before moving down to the deck.

* * *

_The Warbler_'s assessment hadn't gone well. There canons along the port side were fine, but those on the starboard side had either been knocked into the ocean or trapped under the mast, firmly dividing it's midsection in half, so they were fairly defenseless if they anyone attacked them away from the port side. The pantry had, thankfully remained unharmed, but Thad had reasoned that they had 3 weeks left of food and water at most and there was no way to get to land.

David had suggested sending people out in lifeboat to get help, but that idea had quickly been shot down when they realized they had no way of knowing the exact right direction the help would be in.

So sunset had found Blaine sitting on the starboard railing of the ship and looking out at the pink-stained skyline in silence. He was fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt aimlessly and humming an old song when he spotted_ it_.

A ship.

A _ship_.

"Oh my God. Oh my _God_. Wes! Wesley! Jesus- _Captain_!"

Wes who had been down in the crew quarters with David stuck his head out of one of the holes in the deck floor. "What is it, Blaine?"

"I- there's- we- Ship!" Blaine was flailing his hands in a very undignified manner and attempting to scramble off the rail without falling overboard. "A ship! There's a ship! SOMEBODY SIGNAL IT!"

In seconds all the crew members were on deck and throwing themselves in around in attempt to find torches to light before the sun went down. Thad, apparently being the only one left with any sense or logic was at Blaine's side leaning against the rail in seconds with a scope and checking the colors the ship was flying.

When he went pale it was easily visible. "Bloody Hell." He backed up and pressed the scope into Blaine's hands.

"What's wrong?"

Thad looked like he'd seen a ghost. "That's _The Hudmmel_."

Blaine stared at him. "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like a bad escapist novel."

But Thad was already running into the middle of the deck, leaping up onto the horizontally lying mast and screaming, "Don't light the torches! We've got pirates!"

A series of gasps and sharp whispering ran through the crew and Blaine felt his blood run cold. Hesitantly he raised the scope to his eye and scanned the well-cut triangle flapping in the wind on top of the ship. In the dying remnants of the sun he could faintly make out a skull and crossbones in stitched onto black fabric with what seemed to be tasteful silver and gold and his eyebrows shot up.

"As terrifying as this is," he muttered to nobody in particular, "is anybody else wondering why _The Hudmmel_'s flag is glittering?

The panicking crew, of course, ignored him and in seconds David was at his side, yelling at him once again to get below deck.

Before he could protest he being pushed (for the second time in two nights) into the Captain's Quarters, this time through the large hole in the ceiling instead of the door.

"I feel like this counts as useless," muttered Blaine as David leaped down after him. "If we get boarded wont they check here anyways?"

David gave me a disbelieving look. "Blaine, no. Just stay put, okay? We're not letting them down here. You're the most important person on this ship." Before Blaine could protest he held up his hands. "Politically speaking, alright. Nobody is letting them get down here. Besides, I'm not sure what help you would be up there. You're not particularly good with swords or pistols or- actually is there a weapon you _are_ good with?"

Blaine glared at him. "Fine, I'll stay here. At least I don't have to deal with Pavarotti this time."

_ "Squawk! Pavarotti!"_

Blaine's banged his head against the wooden wall.

And then there was cursing and nervous yelps from up on deck. "She's turning this way!"

Blaine turned to stare at David. "There is _no way_ they won't just jump through the hole in the ceiling."

"We could put you in the brig again?"

"I feel like I should say that I hate you, but since we're all about to die and I don't think I want my last words to be unoriginal I'm going to go with, 'Look a distraction!'"

"Really, Blaine?" Before David could even finish rolling his eyes Blaine was on the fallen mast and climbing up to the surface of the deck. "Damn it, Anderson! Get back here!"

But Blaine was already on deck begging Thad for a sword.

"I'm not sure about this, Blaine…"

"I have to be able to fight back somehow!"

Thad looked conflicted for a moment before sighing and running a hand through his dark hair. "If you die, I will absolutely_ kill_ you."

"Yes!" Blaine grinned winningly at him. "Thanks, Thad. Where-"

"In the brig. We moved all the spares down there this afternoon."

Blaine frowned and rubbed at his still aching back. "I hate the brig."

"Of course you do."

* * *

By the time _The Hudmmel_ had reached a disturbingly close distance night had fallen. The faint moonlight cast an eerie glow across the destroyed deck of _The Warbler_, where the armed crew members stood, quiet and waiting, clutching their weapons. Blaine (after much debate) had ended up standing with David and Wes on either side of him, kept in the middle, because it would be easier to protect him if they could see him. Pavarotti was perched on Wes' shoulder again and even he was silently waiting for the doom he seemed to know was coming to him. All three boys had swords drawn and Wes had his father's gavel tucked firmly into his belt ("for administering justice," he had explained, "but painful, and with a lot of blood") where his compass usually went.

"Hey, Wes," David muttered quietly.

"Y-Yes?"

"I just wanted you to know that regardless of what happens today, you were a great Captain."

Wes looked like he was going to cry. Blaine realized that his lack of desire to roll his eyes was a testament to the severity of the situation.

A loud uncertain voice broke through the night. "If anyone is alive on that ship we're invading now, so don't put up a fight and your lives will be spared and- stuff!"

"Oh, honestly, Finn! It's time like this where I'm glad I have no real relation to you." The second voice was higher-pitched and irritated. "We should have just let Rachel do the introduction this time!"

Wes raised his eyebrows and Thad looked back at him and mouthed, 'Don't surrender.' He nodded weakly.

"Boys, stop talking!" A new louder voice cut through and Blaine shared and uneasy glance with Wes. "This is Captain Burt Hummel, and you will surrender now or I will run everyone of you through with my sword."

A shiver ran through the crew of _The Warbler_. Wes looked like he was trying to gather the courage to respond and then, "Dad, that was really tasteless. Nobody is going to give in to it. Whatever. Let's go!" and suddenly _The Hudmmel_ had drawn up right along the starboard side of _the Warbler_ and of course it had, because the functional canons were on the other side and why on Earth would anything be convenient for Blaine?

"_Let's go! Squawk!"_

"Wes, I'm going to die and I _still_ hate your bird."

_The Hudmmel_ in all its unthreateningly named glory was actually rather ununthreateningly built. Its hull came up a good ten feet higher that _The Warblers_ and it's faintly green tinged wood was carved with details of skeletons, sea monsters and what looked like Poseidon. The tall black sails stretched imposingly towards the sky and- Okay, wow. Who was _that guy_?

Standing perched on the railing with a rope was a delicate looking, lithe boy a wearing clean white shirt, tight brown trousers and a laced up pair of boots. He had an intricately carved sword in one hand and the other was holding tightly to a rope. His hair was brown and soft looking and- Christ, where was all of this _coming_ from? Blaine was about to _die_ here.

It took him a few seconds to realize that there were about eight other people lined up with him on the rail holding ropes of their own, but by then the boy was screaming (and wow, that must have been his annoyed voice earlier, because just _wow_), "Charge!" and the pirates were swinging down onto the deck and Blaine had barely enough time to swing up his sword and block before an Asian girl had landed in front of him and brought her blade down sharply.

Blaine screeched in an undignified manner and shot backwards, spinning his sword around his head and bringing it back down to face her.

She raised her eyebrows at him like, 'Seriously?' and walked away turning her sword on Thad, who had just knocked back a dark-skinned girl with a pistol in one hand and a blade in the other.

Blaine blinked. "Fine," he huffed, before wheeling around and finding himself face to face with the boy from earlier. "Oh my God!"

"Hi." The boy grinned at him and waved his sword tauntingly. His eyes were a bright blue color. "I'm new here. Could you tell me where the real fighters are?"

Blaine yelped and jumped backwards, swinging his sword down sloppily, but the boy knocked it away easily and rolled his eyes.

"You're kind of terrible at this." He swung his sword sharply and Blaine dropped to the ground just in time to avoid being sliced in half. "If I wasn't about to kill you I would probably give you dance lessons, because this is pathetic."

Before Blaine had time to mull that one over in his mind (because there was seriously a lot of _What? _going on here) the boy had him pinned to the ground with a hand securing his neck and the sword pointed at his face. His knee was on Blaine's chest holding him down so that his struggling did nothing.

"Damn it!"

"You'd be surprised how often I hear that."

"HEY!" Wes' voice sliced through the air and the noises of the battle surrounding them. "Stop! Get off him! We surrender!" Blaine's eyes flew to where he stood at the top of the mast. He was holding back a bizarrely tall dark-haired boy with his sword, but his gaze was locked firmly on Blaine who could feel dread sinking into his chest. "Please! We'll back down just- just don't kill him."

Out of the corner of his eye Blaine saw Thad hang his head as he sighed. The member of _The Warbler_ all dropped their weapons and raised their hands in defeat. Nick was supporting Jeff who was bleeding heavily from his left side, but was thankfully still alive.

The boy above him raised a curious eyebrow, but got off Blaine regardless and pulled him roughly to his feet, studying him curiously. "I assume you're somebody special then?"

"_Squawk!"_ Pavarotti landed on the boys shoulder and nudged his head with his beak. _"You're somebody special!"_

The boy looked surprised, but stroked the bird's feathers with one hand, still holding Blaine in place.

"Traitor," muttered Blaine irritably.

The boy grinned at him. "You know, I think I like you."

Blaine blinked at him. "You were going to_ kill_ me."

"So imagine how well this would be going if I hated you."

Blaine gulped as the boy lead him down onto the main deck stepping gracefully over the gaps in it.

_The Warbler_ was, if possible, even more doomed than it had been this morning.


	3. Barbers, Boots and Brigs

**I'm sorry that update took so long. Don't kill me?**

**On a random and completely ridiculous note, my friend dragged me into the city to watch her cousin's school performance of Hamlet (set in Japan. My school's drama club feels slightly lame in comparison now. XD) and Laertes was all, "You mock me, sir!" and my mind immediately went, "THAD! GET OFF THE STAGE!" :D**

**...So, yeah.**

**Also, who watched BIOTA? That episode stopped after the scene in Kurt's room and only resumed for, "Yep! I'm gay." (Also, briefly, for the Burt/Kurt scene, because Kurt is a stressbaker and "something went down in the tent.")**

**Seriously.**

**Okay. Done now.**

* * *

"We can't just kill them!"

"Why _not_?"

"They surrendered. It's _barbaric_."

"This has nothing to do with barbers."

"Kid, quit while your behind. I think my son's about to have an aneurysm."

Blaine watched with a sort of terrified curiosity as he watched the pirates in front of him argue about how to deal with the crew of _The Warbler_. Wes, David and Thad were to his left, with their hands bound together. The three of them were being watched by the Asian girl who had fought Blaine (or rather, the Asian girl who had pointedly _not _fought Blaine). She had her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword and was humming quietly under her breath. On his right, the rest of the crew were being kept in place by an exceptionally tall boy and tiny, loud-mouthed girl who was even shorter than Blaine was and seemed to be lecturing Jeff (who was still bleeding heavily from his left side) on his posture.

Blaine, however, was still under the (and the term was being used loosely here, because there was rope bindings involved) care of the blue-eyed boy from earlier (who Pavarotti had taken an irritating liking to. He was perched daintily on the boy's shoulder). He (the boy, not Blaine) was arguing with a large, exceedingly muscular pirate, who seemed to have aversion to shirts (not that Blaine was going to complain, because if he had to die at least it was nice to have some present aesthetics) and a penchant for making people walk the plank.

"_No_, Puck," said the blue-eyed boy, while he shot his father (God damn it. This boy was the Captain's_ son_) a pained look. "Please, let's move this conversation to hair dressers. Maybe we can find you a decent one who can fix that _thing on your head_-"

"Hey," said the pirate, Puck apparently, "don't mess with the 'hawk."

"'The 'hawk?'" The boy's high-pitched voice was indignant. He looked at Blaine with a raised eyebrow. "His hair is ridiculous. Tell him his hair is ridiculous."

"Um…" said Blaine intelligently. Captain Hummel snorted.

"Look at the prisoner, Puck. He is struck dumb by the complete awful that is your hair." The boy looked like he was about to start in on a rant. "And while we're on the subject of terrifying fashion statements, have you seen your boots? Those aren't threatening Puck. They're not saying, 'Fear me! I'm a pirate!' they're saying, 'Burn me. Burn me in a raging hellfire for this travesty on my feet.' Do you understand, Puck? You're boots are so ugly they're contemplating suicide-"

"Alright, kid," said Captain Hummel, stepping in. "We get it. Puckerman's nowhere near as fashionable as you."

"No one is."

"I hear that!" Blaine looked up at _The Hudmmel_. A girl with dark skin—the one Thad had been fighting—was leaning over the ship's rail, lazily clutching her sword and watching the exchange with amusement. "Anything else to send up, Captain H?" She fiddled with the gold medallion hanging around her neck. "I'm liking the necklace."

"Take the silver hoops out!" called the boy, all the while maintaining his grip on Blaine's tied hands. "They're both fabulous on their own, but you look like decorative wall hanging."

The girl snorted and Captain Hummel rolled his eyes. "Nothing yet, Mercedes. Carole and Mike are still down in the brig." The girl saluted him and disappeared back onto the main deck while Captain Hummel turned back to his son and to Puck. "Look, I know you two don't always see eye-to-eye, but we really do need to figure out what to do with them. We could walk them-"

"Barbaric," muttered the boy rolling his eyes as Blaine chewed his lip nervously. "Stop that. You're going to bleed."

"This from the boy who was going to skewer me."

"Should I stop arguing for your life?"

"No, by all means. Continue doing that. Don't stop on my behalf."

"Kurt," Burt said turning around, "pay attention and stop mocking the prisoners."

Kurt (the boy _finally_ had a name, apparently) raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Anyways," continued Burt, "we could also just leave them here. With the state this ship is in they wont exactly be able to follow us and retake their cargo."

"There isn't very much of it to retake." Blaine turned his head to see an older woman (about the Captain's age) who he hadn't really noticed before in the chaos of the battle. She had short brown hair and was standing next to an athletic looking Asian boy. Both of them were carrying crates. "Mostly just clothes and swords. A lot of water and food too, which, with the state of the ship in mind, I don't really have the heart to take." Beside her the boy nodded and Blaine realized that they must be the Carole and Mike the Captain had mentioned before. "Whatever the point of this ship was, it wasn't cargo."

Captain Hummel frowned and Kurt's vibrant eyes flickered down to Blaine's. Blaine glanced at the floorboards. "Who are you then?"

"What?" Blaine looked up at Kurt nervously.

"This isn't a cargo ship," Kurt said calmly, looking him in the eyes with a calculating expression. "So, it's obviously delivering something else. To one of the New World ports, I'm assuming, since we're so close. Obviously, _you're_ important if they'd risk everything to keep you alive, so who are you?"

There was silence on the ship. Captain Hummel was studying him curiously; the tiny brunette had stopped her lecture to look at Kurt with a grudging sort of respect.

"Um… I'm Blaine…" Blaine risked a glance at Wes, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I'm just- just Blaine?"

Kurt raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. "Just Blaine?"

"Uh… yes?" Blaine tried his best to look convincing. "Just Blaine."

_"Squawk! Blaine!"_ From his place on Kurt's shoulders Pavarotti ruffled his feathers. _"Blaine Anderson!"_

God damn parrot-

"Anderson?" Burt raised an eyebrow. "As in Port Edward's governor?"

"No?"

"Yes!" Kurt's eyes lit up with realization. "That's him. They have the same hair!"

"He can't be Governor Anderson," said the tall boy. "He's, like, sixteen."

"Well, _thank you_, Finn," said Kurt with another eye roll, "for sharing your observational powers with us mere mortals. He's obviously related to him though." He held Blaine at arms length and swept his eyes across the boys form. "I'm going to say you're his son, because you're about the same height as his wife."

"I'm sorry," said Blaine cutting in. "I know you can kill me at any second and that I really shouldn't be asking questions-"

"This is true."

"-but _how_ do you know what my parents look like?"

Kurt winced and Burt turned his eyes to his son. "That's a fair question, Kurt. How _do _you know that?"

Kurt cast a fleeting glance down to his wrist before looking back up to his father. "I saw them at Port-" his eyes flickered over to the tiny girl, "at Port Hampton. When we found Rachel. I think they were visiting."

Burt looked unconvinced. "Port Hampton?"

"Yes."

There was a tense silence. Blaine cast his eyes down to Kurt's hands, which were still gripping his shoulders. There was a small 'A'-shaped scar on his porcelain skin, just visible before the sleeve. It looked like it had come from a burn.

"Fine. We'll discuss this later." Burt turned to Carole. "If we've really got Anderson's son here, then I think we know what we're doing."

"Hey, no!" Wes looked panicked. "You can't-"

The Asian girl whipped her sword out of her scabbard and raised it threateningly effectively silencing him. She smiled sweetly and Carole grinned at her. "Nice, Tina."

"Thanks, Mrs. H!"

"I think you should know," said the dark-haired girl (Rachel?), "that we very much can and I'm assuming," she shot a questioning look at Captain Hummel, "that we will?"

The Captain nodded and turned his green-tinted eyes to the tall boy. "Finn, lock them in their brig. We can't kill them and I don't know how I feel about leaving them completely unable to get to their supplies-"

"It's cruel," interjected Kurt. "They'll starve to death. Leave the something to pick the locks with near the door. They'll get out eventually, but we'll be gone before they can cause any trouble." He turned his eyes back to Blaine (who was sure he looked almost as terrified as he felt) and smiled in a disarmingly attractive way. "Blaine seems like somebody who can keep up with me in a conversation—for once. I want first guard tonight."

Blaine gulped.

"Kinky," snorted Puck. Kurt glared at him and his father looked irritated. Pavarotti squawked and repeated him a few times.

"Enough out of you, Puckerman." Captain Hummel turned to Wes, David and Thad. "There should be a government ship passing by next week. When they find you, tell them we've got Anderson," He smiled at Carole, "and that if they want him back, they should talk to April Rhodes in Tortuga. She'll set up a parlay." He focused his gaze back on Thad who was looking at Blaine with wide, terrified eyes. "Are we clear?"

"Yes," muttered Thad.

David looked horrified. "Blaine-"

"Get a move on!"

"Yes, Captain!"

There was a flurry of movement as the terrified crewmembers were lead down to the brig, Pavarotti flew upwards and Kurt tugged Blaine forwards. "Oh, stop looking so miserable," said Kurt cheerfully as he grasped the rope in his left hand and wound his right arm around Blaine's waist, holding him in place. "It could be worse."

Blaine stared at him incredulously. "I'm being held ransom by insane pirates with twisted morals. _How_ could this be worse?"

"It could've been a different ship." Kurt tugged on the rope and suddenly they were being pulled upwards by unseen people. Blaine gasped and Kurt's arm around him tightened. "Or I could drop you."

Blaine groaned. "At least my death will be exciting. I always thought I'd choke on a tea biscuit or something."

Kurt snorted. "You and I are going to get along fabulously."

"Most frightening thing I've heard all night."

* * *

The brig on _The Hudmmel_ was no more comfortable than the brig on _The Warbler_. The only differences seemed to be that on the latter ship there had been one cell (_The Hudmmel_ had three), the heavy iron bars were less rusted and that the locks were not intricately carved skulls with key holes set between there teeth.

The floor, however, was just as likely to give Blaine a sore back in the morning.

He mentioned this mildly to Kurt (who was sitting straight-baked on a stool near his door with his legs crossed and his hands clasped, looking for all the world like he was going to tea with his mother and not guarding the imprisoned son of a political figure) and received a laugh and a suggestion that he shave his "ridiculously fluffy head" and use his curls to make a mattress.

Blaine looked at him scandalized. "It's not_ that_ big, and I can't exactly wear a powdered wig at sea or something."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "A wig?"

"Yes," said Blaine irritably.

"No."

"What?"

"I refuse to guard anybody who willing walks around looking like a dessert cake gone wrong."

Blaine gaped at him. "_Willingly_? It's like having a fireplace on your head. They're ridiculously uncomfortable."

"Then why would you rather wear one then leave your hair down?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "When I said it was fluffy I didn't mean it was awful. It just reminds me a little of a poodle."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "A poodle? Really?"

"They're adorable!"

Blaine rolled his eyes and smiled. "I'm sure. Anyways, the wigs are supposed to keep up appearances. My mother is really into those. She's always wearing the latest England has to offer."

Kurt nodded. "I'm going to have to find her and burn her wardrobe down."

"What?"

"Some of those trends are seriously tacky. When we're at Port I see women walking around with there breasts popping out of their dresses and I'm like, 'You look like a wanton. Please let me set you on fire.'"

Blaine snorted. "Not into corsets?"

Kurt flushed and looked down at the ground. "Not into women."

Oh. _Well _then.

"I'm not either," Blaine mumbled, feeling his skin grow red. "Into women, I mean. Not corsets. Not that I'm into corsets either. I wouldn't know, but they look really uncomfortable-"

"They are," Kurt assured him looking up from the floor, before going even darker red. "I mean- You know what? I'm just going to stop talking now."

Blaine stared at him for a few minutes, before looking at the floorboards and fascinating himself with the lines in their wooden paneling. An awkward silence hung around them for a few minutes before Kurt broke it.

"So, does anybody know or are you just-"

"No, well, I mean… Wes and David do." Kurt looked at him curiously and Blaine continued. "They're- they're my friend's from _The Warbler_. We're, um, we've know each other for- I can't believe I just told you that, actually. It's just that I've never met another-"

Kurt nodded. "I haven't either- well," he paused and frowned, "nobody who was my age anyways."

Blaine opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but the sound of heavy footsteps trudging down the stairs stopped him.

"Hey, Kurt, Dad wants to talk to you." It was Finn. He was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot on the stairs as Kurt shot him a calculating glance.

"About what?"

"I don't know, man-"

"Don't lie to me, Finn Hudson." Kurt raised an eyebrow a delicately ghosted a finger across hilt of his sheathed sword.

Finn gulped.

"The Port Hampton thing," said Finn nervously, training his eyes on the ceiling behind Kurt's head. "I don't think he believes you, dude. Actually, I don't think_ I_ believe you, because there would've been more ships in the harbor and-"

"Yes, thank you Finn." Kurt rolled his eyes and stood up flexing his hand and Blaine's eyes traveled once more to the scar on his wrist. "Tell him we'll talk in the morning and that he should get some rest. It's late and I'm worried about his health."

"You can't just ignore him, Kurt. He's the Captain."

"And Blaine's a prisoner. Who would I leave in charge if Mike's on navigation tonight, Rachel's in the nest and everyone else is asleep." He frowned and ran his eyes over Finn who gulped nervously. "Certainly not you. Do you remember what happened last time you were in charge of that?"

"Azimio-"

"Punched you in the face through a cell door, because you weren't intelligent enough to stand 3 inches further away from it and then got away when somebody thought it was a good idea to leave Rachel on guard duty immediately following the Port Hampton issue?"

"Hey, not cool dude." Finn frowned at him. "I was going to say he was stronger and, well, generally less lame."

"Hey!" interjected Blaine. He crossed his arms. "I am _not_ lame!"

There was momentary pause in the conversation as both of the boys (brothers?) turned to look at Blaine with incredulously raised eyebrows. Blaine flushed scarlet.

"Anyways," said Kurt, turning back to his conversation with Finn, "I'm staying here. If Dad wants to talk to me he can wait until at least sunrise."

"But-"

"Goodnight, Finn Hudson." Kurt spun on his stool so that he was facing Blaine again and Finn, frowning at the dismissal, only lingered for a moment before heading back up the stairs.

"You're not going to go talk to him?" asked Blaine surprised. "Why not?"

Kurt frowned. "It isn't something I want to discuss."

Blaine nodded understandingly. "But, wait- Isn't he the Captain _and_ your father? How do you get away with just disobeying him like that?"

"It's because I'm sort of a prodigy," Kurt said very sincerely, before rolling his eyes and smiling. "No, really. It's late and he knows I'm more likely to talk in the morning."

Blaine frowned. "But he's your father."

"Do you always do everything people tell you to?"

The silence that followed that question was a lot more telling than anything that Blaine could've said.


	4. The Return of the Demon Bird

**Yeah, you know how you all wanted me to update quickly? About that…**

**I'm a bad person who went ahead and wrote a chapter that takes place… a lot later. Also, I went through and decided that more characters were going to live than I originally had planned!**

**Aren't I bleak and depressing tonight.**

**At least I was writing?**

**Anyways, who saw **_**Sexy**_**? I… think I liked it? Maybe? I don't know. I enjoyed parts of the Britanna (Naya Rivera and Chris Colfer need BFFL scenes now please—must not write one-shot instead of this story); I spent **_**Animal**_** with my face embedded in my Teddy Bear (oh, **_**Kurt**_**); the mirror scene may be my long lost sibling, because I love it madly and inexplicably ("Kurt, you're blushing," Blaine, you're **_**flirting**_**); Blaine and Burt was wonderful and Burt and Kurt is**_** always**_** wonderful; Puck was hilarious; I wanted to strangle Quinn and Finn; I swear the scarf Kurt was wearing in the first scene was Blaine's in BIOTA; Emma, you are married to John Stamos, how do you even remember Will's name when you look at that face? Will… That is all; I so called it with Blaine's Dad not liking his sexuality! Watch unsupportive Mr. Anderson play a part in this story and make sense! **_**Yes**_**; Holly, please stay on this show forever and continue delivering you're ridiculous one-liners, but get out of Will's love-life, because nobody wants to be in that awful excuse for… anything; SUE, WHAT WERE YOU DOING TO YOUR COFFEE?**

**I have no opinions. Really.**

4 things immediately struck Blaine when he woke up on the floor of the _Hudmmel_'s brig. The first was that, yes, his back did hurt again, and perhaps he should stop sleeping on floors. The second was that his guard (the tiny girl- Rachel?) was ignoring him and furiously polishing a rather garish gold pin with stars and horses on it. Her skirt was frighteningly short. Like, arrested for public indecency if they were back in England short. The third was a beautiful, high and clear voice floating down from up on deck which Blaine had to stop and take a moment to listen to.

He had sung with his music teacher back home and a little bit in school—nothing serious, but he liked to imagine he had a nice voice and his teacher certainly seemed to think so—but he hadn't really burst into spontaneous musical numbers since his third year at Dalton (and those had involved a lot of furniture climbing). It was nice to listen to and sort of carefree. The fourth thing-

"Oh, you're awake?"

_ "Squawk! You're awake!"_

Blaine shot to his feet and spun around, taking in Rachel's appearance one more. Perched on the truly atrocious bag at her feet was a familiar bundle of bright yellow and evil.

"No." Blaine shook his head. "This is not happening. I refuse."

"No?" Rachel looked amused. "No, you're not awake, because you don't want to be?"

"Why?" Blaine asked ignoring her. He threw his hands back and tilted his head to the ceiling, barely registering that the singing had stopped. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Is something wrong, Blaine?"

Blaine turned his head to see Kurt at the top of the stairs, arms crossed and smirking. Puck and Finn were on either side of him and Puck nodded at him. "Anderson. Sleep well?"

Blaine ignored him too. "Kurt, I get it. Really, I do. I've been kidnapped. I don't get a choice in the matter, but why in God's name is the Demon Bird from Hell on this ship?"

"You mean, Pav?" Kurt looked surprised. "Is he really that awful? He followed us. He wouldn't leave me alone on watch this morning. I think he's cute."

"_Squawk! Think he's cute!"_

Blaine stared blankly at him. "Cute?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence, before Rachel spoke up. "Kurt, do you want to switch shifts with me? Because if nobody's on deck and your Dad comes up-"

"Sure." Kurt pushed past the others before she could finish her sentence and shooed her from her seat, sliding into it himself. "Puck, Finn, you should head back up to. We can't just have an empty deck and- Finn, weren't you _steering_?"

Finn paled and bolted upstairs, Puck chasing after him and laughing while Rachel followed, lecturing about the importance of "paying attention to the tasks Captain Hummel gives us, Finn. We're role models for many of the crew."

Kurt snorted and shifted his stool closer to Blaine's cell, leaning against the bars and turning his head to make eye contact. Pavarotti hopped up onto his knee. "Sleep well?"

"Do you get some bizarre pleasure out of my misery," Blaine asked, "or are you always this irritating?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhmm." Blaine leaned against the cell door lazily, gripping the bars with his hands. "I'm sure you don't." He paused glancing down at the bird. "How did you know his name?"

"Pav?" Kurt stroked the bird's beak absently. "He told me." He smiled brightly. "I think he likes me."

"_Squawk! Pav likes!"_

"I think I'm the only one he doesn't like," sighed Blaine. "His real name is Pavarotti."

"Pavarotti," Kurt repeated. He smiled down at the bird. "It suits him. It's so…"

"Irritating?"

Kurt laughed. "You should come up on deck."

Blaine stared at him. "Uh, Kurt? Have you _ever_ had a prisoner before?"

"Yes," said Kurt with a role of his grey eyes and—hey, no. Weren't those blue last night? "They were all drooling Neanderthals with enough combined brain cells to fill an eggcup. Unless you're an incredibly talented actor I'm just going to assume you're smarter than that."

"Um…"

"Or maybe I wont." Kurt got to his feet (Pavarotti squawked indignantly and flew into Blaine's cell) and turned to head up the stairs.

"Hey, wait, where are you going?"

Kurt turned back to him. "I'm going to ask my Dad if I can bring you up on deck with me. I'm going to practice sword-fighting again and you're—at least being awful looks good on you?" He winced sympathetically. "You might as well get something out of this whole being kidnapped experience."

Before Blaine had time to mull over either of the prominent issues in that statement (the unsaid insult and Kurt's bizarre idea that there could be anything beneficial about pirates holding you for ransom) the boy had disappeared onto the deck and Blaine was left alone in his cell with Satan's Worst Punishment.

"_Squawk!"_ Pavarotti landed on Blaine's shoulder and nipped at his ear. _"Looks good."_

"Shut up," muttered Blaine, shrugging his shoulder in an effort to rid himself of his feathery tormentor.

Pavarotti squawked again and tugged on a curl.

* * *

That afternoon, standing on deck with the crew, Blaine was beginning to think that maybe_ he_ was the one who didn't understand what being kidnapped meant. Captain Hummel had (for some reason unbeknownst to him) agreed to let Kurt _teach the prisoner how to handle a sword properly_ and was now seated on a bench on deck next to his wife (Carole Hudson, Blaine had been informed. Kurt's step-mother) and watching in amusement as Kurt attempted to show Blaine how one held a sword without flailing around like "Rachel if somebody gagged her and took all of her animal prints."

Blaine had been introduced to the remaining crew of the _Hudmmel_. The first was Tina, the quiet Asian girl from yesterday, who apparently hadn't been able to take his sword-fighting seriously enough to fight him.

"It would've been like killing a puppy," she'd informed him. "A puppy with Kurt's pout. That's how pathetic you were. I just couldn't do it morally."

Blaine hadn't really known how to respond to that.

There was also Mike, (the other Asian, who hadn't really said anything) and Mercedes, who had loudly presented herself as Kurt's best friend and, "Hell to the no," was he ever going to be better than him with a sword.

"I'm awful at this," said Blaine as his sword (taken from the _Warbler_) went flying out his hand for what seemed like the millionth time.

"Yes," said Kurt matter-of-factly, his own sword still raised and pointed at Blaine's chest. "At least it's-"

"Endearing?" Blaine tried, offering a grin.

Kurt rolled his eyes, but smiled back. "That too."

Someone (Blaine thought it might be Puck) snorted as Kurt lowered his sword and picked up Blaine's. "Don't worry. Rachel was worse."

"I was not!" Rachel called from up in the crowsnest. "I was looking for a challenge, and I faced it with the strength and determination of any great swordsman."

"Please, stop talking," Kurt called back to her. "You're just embarrassing yourself."

"I accept you're challenge, Kurt Hummel!" Rachel began climbing down from the nest, her brown hair whipping everywhere.

Blaine blinked at her as she switched places with Tina and walked over to Kurt taking Blaine's sword out of his hand. "Wait, what challenge?" Kurt shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"This is a Diva-Off!" Rachel announced whipping around and flailing her sword dangerously. Blaine jumped back a few feet.

"Most of the Diva-Offs have singing," Finn put in helpfully, "but Rachel and Kurt like theirs sharper, and with more pointy things."

"Right," said Blaine. "Sure. That makes total sense."

"Dude, _nothing_ on this ship makes sense," Puck snorted patting the space next to him on the steps. "Come here. Berry's about to get smeared on the deck."

"I am not!" Rachel cried indignantly as Blaine moved nervously over to Puck. "I am just giving this ship what it wants!"

"Blood?" asked Kurt, removing his navy-colored jacket and handing it delicately to Mercedes. "Be careful with that. It's French."

"Entertainment." Rachel whipped her sword towards Kurt. "Let's go, Hummel. I have scales to practice."

Kurt raised his eyebrows quizzically before lifting his sword and lunging at her. Rachel yelped like a frightened puppy and jumped out of the way, bringing her sword down sharply towards Kurt who twirled and parried.

Blaine stared at them with his mouth hanging open as they whirled around the deck in a blur of glinting, clashing sword and laughter. "And you just do this for fun?"

"Yeah," said Puck with a grin. He whooped appreciatively as Kurt swiped particularly fast, tearing a whole in Rachel's vest (embroidered with _kittens_. Oh my_ God_). "Nice, Hummel!"

Up at the wheel Finn was cheering for Rachel while Pavarotti squawked appreciatively. Burt and Carole were watching silently, arms cross and amusement written on their faces. Mike had joined Tina in the crowsnest and the two of them were clapping and laughing. Mercedes was across the deck from Blaine and Puck cheering loudly for "her boy" to "tear her to ribbons."

"Seriously," said Blaine as Rachel managed to get a swipe in herself, cutting a slit in Kurt's puffy white sleeve and exposing his arm. "You just chase each other around with deadly weapons and hope nothing goes wrong?"

"Dude," said Puck, "we're _pirates_. It's badass."

Blaine opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped himself. "I'll just let it go, I guess."

"You learn fast, rich boy."

A pair of high-pitched screeches broke through their conversation as Kurt flung his sword aside and tackled Rachel to the ground, wrenching her own blade from her hand and holding it to her throat. "Ha!"

"But- Fine! I still won last time!"

"Whatever, Berry. I have to go fix this shirt."

"Could you stitch my vest too?"

"No, because one: you lost and it's hilarious and two: that vest is a crime against nature. I'm sorry you ever had to wear it."

* * *

"So, where are we going anyways?" Blaine asked as he and Kurt sat on the rails of the ship watching the sunset. "Like, where are we making Port?"

"Tortuga." Kurt looked over at Blaine and smiled conspirationally. "I'm sure you've heard of it. You're parents are absolutely terrified of the place."

"They've mentioned it," said Blaine, "but I never really knew why they hated it so much. Is their something particularly wrong with it?"

"Piracey," Kurt paused, "and prostitutes."

Blaine blinked at him. "For real?"

Kurt nodded. "The French sent more than a thousand over in the 40s. To help with morale or something like that."

"They imported-"

"I know." Kurt shook his head, "but we do need to head there anyways. We have to tell April how to get a hold of us for your ransom."

"Speaking of the ransom, you're really not very good at this kidnapping thing, you know?" Blaine grinned and nudged Kurt's shoulder. "So far, you've let me hang out on deck with you, allowed me to sit on a place where I could just dive off the ship-"

"To be eaten by sharks?"

"-and stop you from getting any money out of this," Blaine continued shaking his head. "You've actually fed me the same food that you eat, because you worried about my complexion-"

"Puck's idea of prisoner's food isn't dry bread and water," said Kurt flatly. "There's grease everywhere, and that is just awful for your skin. I wouldn't subject anyone to that." He paused. "Maybe Rachel, if we were arguing again."

"Instead of having another sword fight?"

Kurt smiled impishly. "Maybe I'll force her to eat it and then fight me. I'll have even more of an advantage."

Blaine snorted. "The way Tina tells it, you two are almost evenly matched. I saw that fight today, Kurt Hummel, and you were pretty close until the last part."

"_Blaine Anderson_," Kurt drawled, placing emphasis on the full name, "are you mocking me?"

"Well, somebody has to." Blaine grinned. "Another reason that you're awful at kidnapping, actually. We're sitting here acting like best friends. Shouldn't you have thrown me back in the brig by now and yelled at me for doubting your skills?"

"Maybe." Kurt shook his head and looked back out to the sky, where the last traces of orange hung low on the horizon. "Except that you're terrible, so you really can't judge me."

"I resent that."

"But you can't deny it?"

"Well, no, actually." Blaine blushed. "I never really learned how to fight. It was never going to be part of my job. Wes and David know how, because Mr. Hughes thought they would need to know how to defend themselves, but my Dad has never really…" Blaine trailed off. "He left for Port Edward when I was twelve, I think, and my mom just went over there last year, but he never really, you know, got a chance to give me any lessons." Blaine frowned. "My mom _did_ get me a music tutor though."

"Music?" Kurt swung a leg over the rail off the ship, sitting so that he was fully facing Blaine now. "Which instruments did you play?"

"Piano," Blaine said with a light smile, "and a little bit of violin. It was mostly singing though."

"You sing?" Blaine wasn't quite sure how to decipher the look Kurt was giving him. There was a smile tugging at his lips and his green eyes _(okay, seriously, those were grey earlier_) were shining. "We do that a lot here."

"Yeah?" asked Blaine.

"There are a lot of impromptu musical numbers." Kurt nodded. "You know, to express our emotions. I made Finn and Puck help me carry a piano onto the ship after one of our raids. Its in Dad's cabin, nailed to the floor."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Nailed to the floor?"

"So that it doesn't slide around when the ship rocks," Kurt explained. "People have been crushed that way before. Our Commodore uses it as a battle technique. She once took down an entire fleet with nothing but a harpsichord."

"She sounds frightening."

"She is. She refuses to acknowledge me as anything other than Porcelain."

Before Blaine could question that (because, _wow_, did that ever require questioning) Mercedes was coming up behind them and tapping Kurt on the shoulder. "Boy, you need to get him down to the brig. There's going to be another storm tonight."

Blaine paled. "Another storm?"

Mercedes nodded and pointed in towards the East. There were thick dark clouds rolling in that certainly hadn't been there that afternoon. Lightning crackled in the distance and thunder rumbled ominously. Blaine felt his stomach drop.

"The weather's been ridiculous lately," murmured Kurt. He delicately swung his other leg over the bar and hopped gracefully onto the deck, extending a hand to Blaine who took it and awkwardly pulled himself over, nearly falling into the ocean. "That can't be natural."

"What else would it be?" asked Blaine curiously.

Kurt shot Mercedes a significant look and she shook her head. "You're crazy, Kurt. It's just springtime. The storms are always a little psycho."

Kurt frowned, but didn't say anything else. Instead he turned to Blaine, whose hand he was still holding. "Are you okay? You look terrified."

"The last time I was in a storm the mast nearly crushed me. If David hadn't shoved me out of the way-" Blaine winced. "I'm not really big on lightning right now."

Kurt looked at him seriously for a moment, before exchanging another glance with Mercedes who raised an eyebrow at him. "Come on. I'm on guard again. Mercedes, get Puckerman out of the nest. If he gets struck by lightning we'll start running out of eye-candy."

Mercedes snorted and before Blaine could register the odd feeling settling in his stomach Kurt was tugging him towards the door that led down to the brig, before he shut it behind him he could hear Mercedes yelling at Puck, "Get down from there. Your boy is taking my shift and I need somebody to duet with!"

**AUTHOR'S NOTE REPRISE, BECAUSE THIS WASN'T POSTED IN TIME:**

**So, **_**Original Song**_**, guys.**

**Ahem.**

**OMFGAOISBOBSOBASFUBSF!**

**Yes. Right. **

**I may or may not have watched all of the Klaine scenes over and over and over and Blaine's face during**_** Blackbird**_**... "Hold on a minute. It's like… it's like these things that I am feeling are- are romantic or something. Oh, wait a minute. They're always romantic. Oh my God… I'm in love with Kurt."**

**Oh, Blaine. So clueless.**

**AND THEN THEY KISSED. Also, the Warblers are like the Blaine Anderson Appreciation Society or something. I swear. XD**

**Also, how did ND win with those songs? I mean, I liked LLM, but GIR was just… not memorable. At all. In any way. **

**Ever.**

**Quote of the episode, "Is it a gay school, or just a school that appears gay?"**

**:D**

**Also, if that is how everyone in the fandom reacted to just a bird dying (Oh, Pavi) you're all going to hate me by the end of this story.**

**Advanced apologies.**

**Also (last time, I swear) Puck ships Klaine! Oh, **_**Candles**_** (I lovedlovedloved that performance), aside from you're irritating tendency to cut to Finchel-with-the-Quinn block you were filled with such awesome.**


	5. A Double Hostage Situation

**Okay, guys, so I swear I've been working on this fic. It's just, that, you know, I've been writing scenes that don't take place for several chapters and going on character killing sprees where I murder everybody (yeah, I cut those) when I get stressed out and for some reason last night everybody was getting eaten by sharks.**

**Like, seriously. They were falling off the boat or the sharks were jumping up on deck. There's a scene I have later on an island, in a tree, in the **_**middle**_** of the island and a shark just kind of fell out the sky and ate Kurt.**

**I was like, "Oh. Well then."**

**Also, because I'm a bad person I've also been working on the PJO crossover and now I also kind of want to gender swap the Gemma Doyle trilogy and put the boys in a magical 1800s boarding school.**

**Even more also, I realize as I write this story that I think Blaine spends half of his time waking up in brigs. XD Whoops?**

**Last also. So, who's seen**_** Starship**_**? It was the number one soundtrack on iTunes! I'm so proud of my bbs! **

**Oh God. I should be doing Physics homework right now. What is my life?**

That night Blaine barely slept as the thunder rumbled outside and the ship rocked in the heavy waves. When he woke up the next morning Kurt was still there, sleeping curled up on the floor outside of his cell with his head resting on make-shift pillow (one of Rachel's fluffy fox-patterned jackets) and Pavarotti squawking and pecking at his leather boots. This routine carried on for a week, as did the inconsistent weather, which was always sunny and bright during the day and then violently storming starting at the sunset.

No one other than Kurt ever seemed to be put on guard duty. (If, that is, one could call engaging in banter sessions and then sleeping on an uncomfortable wooden floor instead of in a hammock or on a cot like the rest of the crew 'guard duty.')

Everyday Blaine came up on deck to be taught to fight (read: thoroughly destroyed at sword point) by Kurt with occasional irritating comments or pointers from Puck and Rachel.

"Don't shut your eyes," Kurt reprimanded him one day as they circled each other on the bow-side upper deck. Finn was at the wheel opposite them once again, while Rachel chatted on his other side. Mike and Tina were up in the crowsnest and the rest of the crew were below them on the main deck, moving up every now and again to adjust the sails, but for the most part they were just milling around talking and arguing (except for Rachel and Mercedes who were trying to sing higher than each other. "That's why you keep getting hit."

Blaine sighed and adjusted his grip on the sword in his hand. "I can't help it. It's just a nervous reflex."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Blaine, you have nothing to be worried about. It's just me." He tugged the sleeve of his white shirt down over his wrist and then raised his sword again, motioning for Blaine to do the same.

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "You could probably kill me." He paused. "Actually, you almost did."

"I know." Kurt grinned at him confidently. His eyes were sparkling.

The sword went flying out of Blaine's hand and clattered to the ground.

"Oh, come on, Blaine," said Kurt shaking his head. "You weren't even trying that time."

Blaine flushed as he bent down to retrieve the sword. "I kept my eyes open," he muttered.

Kurt sighed. "The trick is to keep your eyes open _while_ fighting back, Blaine. Just doing one or the other doesn't work." He stepped back, raising his sword as Blaine faced him again. "Here. Just try disarming me one more time, okay? And try watching my shoulders instead of my face. That'll tell you if I'm going to move or not."

Blaine nodded weakly still flushed red, but this time when Kurt came at him he flicked his wrist sharply, the same way he'd been practicing all week and watched in shock as Kurt's sword went flying out of his hand and over the rail, landing at the feet of Captain Hummel.

All the noise on the ship cut off as everyone on it turned to stare at Blaine. Kurt smirked approvingly.

Puck's voice cut through the silence. "Alright, rich boy!"

Captain Hummel smiled up at him. "Not bad, kid." Carole nodded, grinning widely and giving him a thumbs up. Rachel began lecturing on the importance of watching for flying weaponry.

Blaine paid very little attention to the last one.

Kurt was smiling at him. "Not bad," his grin widened a little, "for an amateur."

"I'll take it," said Blaine. He glanced over to Puck who was giving him a thumbs up and saying something about how 'Those Warblers should have taught him sooner or they might not have gotten their asses kicked so hard.' Rachel began scolding him for his language.

* * *

Later that night, after watching Kurt and Rachel have another Diva-Off (she won this time. Kurt was furious) Blaine was down in the brig with Puck and Finn. The storm clouds hadn't yet rolled all the way across the sky and Kurt had been stuck staying on watch in the crowsnest, Mercedes at his side.

"You know," Finn was saying, "I don't really know why we bother guarding you, dude. I mean, where are you even going to go?"

"Into the ocean," sighed Blaine, rolling over on the wooden floor again. "To find a Physician Shark that can help me with my back problems before it eats me."

"Dude, Physician Sharks exist? I thought there were only Nurse sharks."

Puck rolled his eyes at Finn and good-naturedly bumped his shoulder. "No, man. That would be awesome though. I should write a song about it."

"_Medicinal Mediterranean_?" suggested Blaine.

"_Physic Pacific_," said Puck grinning.

"_Carnivorous Caribbean_." Finn smiled (and Blaine had to give him points for both knowing the word 'Carnivorous' and for the locational accuracy) and then looked back at Blaine, still behind bars. "Seriously though, I'm not even sure why we bother guarding you—because, no offense, Dude, but I've seen starfish with more skills, and it isn't like you can go anywhere—or keeping you in the brig. I mean if we really need to keep watch on you, you could just, like, stay on Kurt's floor or something. He's got room and he'd still be insisting on taking the shift."

"Seriously, you guys, I think you need a lesson in pi- Hey, wait, insisting?" Blaine paused. "I thought he was _supposed_ to be guarding me."

"He is," said Puck. "It's just that Kurt always volunteers—and by 'volunteers' I mean he says he's doing it and then gives the room a bitch glare—and Burt gives it to him, because he's his son."

"And because nobody else likes hanging out in brigs," Finn put in helpfully.

Blaine laughed and smiled at him, an oddly warm feeling pooling in his stomach and the three of them spent the next twenty minutes discussing the many ways to make a brig more comfortable ("Rum, man. It needs rum." "Dude, I know. And the rum is _always _gone."), until they heard thunder crashing and the sound of boots pounding down the wooden steps.

"Hey." Kurt smiled at him from the foot of the stairs. He was soaking wet and shivering a little, brown hair plastered to his forehead. "The clouds broke kind of suddenly."

Finn and Puck groaned in unison and Puck shrugged off his jacket offering it to Kurt. "Here, take it."

"What? No, Noah. It's your coat. I couldn't possibly-"

"All I'm going to do is go upstairs, run across the deck and talk to your, Dad," said Puck with a shrug. "It's going to get soaked anyways and you're freezing. I don't want you getting sick." When Kurt raised an eyebrow he hurried on. "Because then you'll be like, whiny and stuff and- just take the damn jacket." He thrust the offending brown garment forwards and Kurt accepted it with a small smile and a murmured thanks.

"Yeah, well, whatever." Puck glanced over at Finn. "Come on, Dude. We have to talk to Captain H about tomorrow." They pounded up the stairs voices carrying back down to the brig ("Since when do you say 'insists?'" "Rachel's been helping me practice my vocabulary for hostage situations. She says big words make you sound elephant." "Dude… Eloquent." "_Oh_…") until Blaine heard the sound of a door slamming and everything was silent except for the sound on the rain and waves and the occasional crash of thunder. Kurt glanced around the dim, lantern-lit room, before sighing and peeling off his navy jacket.

"I hope they didn't drive you too crazy," he said, grimacing slightly as he pulled Puck's over-sized brown coat on over top of his damp billow shirt. "I love them both, but I swear, sometimes when I'm hanging out with them I can feel my mind deteriorating."

Blaine laughed. "Not at all." He grinned. "I liked talking to them. They're really… Well, they're something."

A particularly loud clap of thunder echoed through the room and Blaine flinched.

"Still not big on storms?" Kurt asked kindly. He was still trembling and hugging himself to keep warm.

"No," Blaine said shaking his head. "You'd think that having them every night like this—seriously weird, by the way, but then, I've never been at sea before—would make it a little easier to get used to, but it doesn't. I feel like a mast is going to fall on me," Blaine paused, "And maybe not miss this time."

Kurt smiled at him softly. "Oh, Blaine," he laughed, "I promise to give a good speech at your funeral if you get crushed by a mast." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "It'll be wonderful. I'll show up wearing glitter—and a corset, because I know you don't like them and if I can't annoy you when you're dead, then why would I go on living—and your father will try to arrest me and then_ my_ father will burst through the doors leading a raid and wearing a fabulous hat. I'll pick it out for him, of course. You'll be well remembered, Anderson, if only for your insane service."

Blaine laughed. "You're adorable."

"_You're_ adorable." Kurt stuck his tongue out childishly and rubbed his arms a little more in what appeared to be a vain attempt to warm himself up.

"Was that supposed to be an insult?"

Before Kurt could reply there was another violent crash of thunder and Blaine jumped, but most certainly didn't squeak.

Really.

Kurt studied him before moving aside the jacket and pulling out the ring of keys hanging from his belt. "Here," he opened the door and stepped in to the cell, turning around and reaching through the bars to relock it.

"What are you doing?" asked Blaine as Kurt turned around and put his keys back.

"Well, I'm cold and you're terrified, so I just thought-" Kurt cut himself off blushing. "Um, just... sit down."

Blaine looked at him confused, but obeyed and was pleasantly surprised when Kurt slid to the floor beside him and timidly wrapped his arms around him.

"Oh," Blaine breathed.

"Uh, yeah." Kurt's face was still flushing bright red and he was looking at the ground. "If it's too weird-" He relaxed his grip and started to pull back.

"Hey. No," Blaine said, slipping his own arms around Kurt's waist and tugging him back towards him. "It's not weird. I was just surprised."

Kurt smiled weakly at him and Blaine grinned back. There was another loud clap of thunder and Blaine jumped again and buried his face in Kurt's borrowed jacket, just because he could.

Kurt laughed awkwardly. "This would probably work better if we were lying down. You know. On the ground."

"Oh, right. Yeah." Blaine leaned backwards blushing, pulling Kurt with him. Now they were lying on their backs with their arms stretched clumsily around each other. More thunder rumbled and Blaine flinched.

Kurt sighed. "We are so bad at this," he mumbled, before rolling onto his side so that he was facing Blaine. Blaine followed suit and they lay their awkwardly for a few moments, facing each other, but still kind of far apart until Kurt shivered again. Blaine pulled him tightly against him and buried his face in Kurt's still damp hair.

"You're really warm," mumbled Kurt.

Blaine smiled softly. "You're not."

Kurt lifted a hand and smacked the back of Blaine's head. "Watch it, Anderson, or I might let my sword slip tomorrow."

"That's okay," Blaine said good-naturedly, "I do that all the time."

Kurt hummed in agreement.

* * *

"Burt is going to _kill_ him."

"I don't know, man. It's kind of cute."

"Which part? The raging pirate Dad or the death?"

Blaine cracked his eyes open to see Puck and Finn leaning against the outside of the cell door. Finn was wide-eyed and Puck was smirking down at him. "Hey, Rich Boy. Sleep well?"

"Wha-" Blaine flushed red. He was still lying on the floor with Kurt, their arms looped around each other. Kurt's head was resting on his chest. "Oh. Um…"

"Dude, it's cool." Puck nodded. "We don't mind if you two are, you know, a thing." He raised an eyebrow suggestively and Blaine stared at him. "I mean, we don't judge Kurt for being into guys-"

"Anymore," muttered Finn, looking at the floor guiltily.

"-so if you two want to, you know, get your courting period on we don't mind."

"I- what?"

Before Puck could come back with something to make Blaine even more nervous/uncomfortable/confused/Suddenly-Wishing-That-He-Was-Waking-Up-With-Pavarotti-Again Kurt shifted and blinked his eyes open, looking forward up at Blaine sleepily. "Blaine?"

"Uh…" Blaine looked back at Puck and Finn.

Kurt followed his eyes and then flushed bright red, scrambling away from Blaine like he'd been burned. "Noah! Finn! What are you doing here so early?"

"Sun's already up, man. Your Dad wanted us to come get you and make you go back to your room to get some rest." Puck grinned wickedly, "But you know, you and your 'Gentlemen Caller,'" Puck fluttered his eyelashes exaggeratedly, "seem to have that covered. We can just leave now and-"

"Nothing happened!" Kurt squeaked face steadily going redder and Blaine nodded fervently. "We just fell asleep!"

"Right," said Finn. "Sure."

"And then in your sleep," said Puck, "you unlocked the door, walked in, relocked it—so, so pointless, by the way. If he wanted to escape he could've just taken your keys—and cuddled. Without waking up once.."

"He was cold!"

"Blaine's scared of thunder!"

"Thank you, Kurt. Thank you so much. I'm not even a little embarrassed-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Finn said waving his hand. "So… nothing happened."

"No," said Blaine. "We were just sleeping. Honestly."

"And you're not…?" Finn nodded his head towards Kurt.

"No! We aren't!"

"No, I mean-" Finn shook his head and looked helplessly at the ceiling. Blaine stared at him.

"Oh my God." Puck rolled his eyes. "Anderson, are you gay or not?"

Blaine blinked at him and furrowed his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Alright, cool. Rachel owes me money. Glad we cleared that one up." Puck nodded to Kurt. "You need to unlock the cell, Dude. I haven't got any keys."

Blaine stared at them all incredulously. "This ship is insane."

"Welcome to my _life_."

* * *

When Kurt and Blaine came up on deck blinking rapidly and shielding their eyes from the sun Rachel pounced on them immediately. "Blaine, Noah's says you're gay, but I don't believe him, because he only has _Finn_ as a witness and Finn is his best friend, so I just thought that you could put an end to this-"

"Rachel," said Kurt, cutting her off flatly. "He's gay." He dragged his eyes over her outfit looking repulsed. "Why are you wearing a corgi?"

"I- It's not a corgi!" Rachel looked offended as she patted her furry vest. "It's a decorative garment." Before Kurt could stop pulling lemon faces and tell her exactly_ how_ awful it was she plowed on, "Why are _you _wearing Noah's jacket?"

Kurt looked down at the brown jacket and sighed before heading for Puck and Finn who were at the wheel. "Puckerman!"

"So, Blaine," Rachel smiled and Blaine looked at her warily, "I understand that this situation is probably quite confusing for you, but if you need to talk to anyone other than Kurt or, you know, _about_ Kurt my two ga-"

"Land ho'!" Tina's called from up in the crowsnest, cutting Rachel off mid-rant. "Um, I think? Yeah. Yeah! Land! That doesn't make any sense!"

In seconds Kurt, Carole and Captain Hummel were climbing up the ladder to the crowsnest as the others all rushed to the starboard side of the ship (except for Finn, who was still steering the ship, and Pavarotti, who had been perched on Burt's shoulder and was now fluttering around there heads as the climbed excitedly squawking "Land!" and "Sense!" and "Slow down, Kurt! You're going to fall off the ladder!") trying to get a look at the strip of trees (and "Is that a _mountain_?" "Don't be stupid, Finn's over there." "Oh, Mike. You think you're funny, but you're not.") in the distance. Rachel pulled a small telescope from the inside of her corgi.

"It's an island!"

"Well thanks, girl. We had no idea."

Rachel lowered the telescope and shot Mercedes a glare. Puck snatched it out of her hands and stared at the island. "I've never seen this place before, and we've been out here about a thousand times! Did we go off course?"

"Maybe," said Mike nervously. "I mean, I don't think we have."

"There's no way," said Rachel. "I've been doing the navigation and I've never made an error in my life."

Puck nodded and passed the telescope to Blaine. Who stared blankly at him. "Just check it out, Hobbit. Maybe you've heard of it or something."

"How am I supposed to recognize something I've only heard of-"

"Don't argue with him, Blaine," sighed Mercedes. "You'll get it over with faster."

Blaine rolled his eyes and took the scope, scanning the narrow strip of land visible. There was white sand and tall green trees that looked like they were being shaken violently by wind and- "Is that a piece of a _column_?"

"Oh, just give me my telescope back," said Rachel sharply, snatching it from Blaine who blinked and glanced up at the crowsnest where Kurt seemed to be having the same conversation with his parents and Tina. "It _is_. There's a few more I think. They look Grecian."

"Oh, too _weird_." Mercedes shook her head. "We're not even on the right side of the ocean for that."

"We should check it out," said Puck. "Figure out why we've never seen it before."

"Are you insane?" asked Mike. "It's a random uncharted island in the middle of _nowhere._ We don't know who or _what_ is on it. You want to _check it out_."

"And the architecture is poorly maintained," muttered Rachel.

"Yup, sounds about right," said Puck, ignoring Rachel with a roll of his eyes. "What do you think is on it, Chang? Greek vampires?"

"It's creepy," said Mike. "What if it's cursed?"

"Cursed?" asked Puck incredulously. "Dude, you don't legitimately believe in that magic stuff do you?"

Blaine watched as Rachel and Mercedes exchanged uneasy glances and looked up at Kurt who was staring at them nervously and jabbing his finger frantically towards his father.

"I don't think it sounds very safe," Blaine put in. "You guys could get eaten or something."

"By a cursed Greek vampire?" suggested Puck. He smirked at Mike who looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. "You don't get a say, Anderson. You're a prisoner."

"A concept that you still seem to need an explanation of," muttered Blaine.

"You don't get a say either," said Rachel. "Captain Hummel and Carole will decide. We'll do what they say."

Puck rolled his eyes and Mike looked nervous. Mercedes frowned at Rachel. "You know, you're talking about _Kurt's_ Dad, right? Where do you think he got the Trouble Siren genes?"

Rachel bit her lip and looked up at the crowsnest again. Tina was biting her nails while Carole shook her head. Kurt and Captain Hummel were waving there arms and gesturing to the island dramatically.

"Oh my God," said Mike. "We're all going to die."

* * *

Since the Supreme Forces of the Universe didn't seem to like Blaine at all lately (and really, what _exactly_ had he done to them? He would have to figure it out so he could beg for forgiveness) Captain Hummel decided he was going to take the crew onto the island.

Since _Captain Hummel_ at least, seemed to like Blaine he was left on the ship with a guard (Kurt wasn't pleased. "Dad, let me come with you! I'm one of your best fighters!" "Great. You can spar one of the sails.") and not forced to leave with them, or with Pavarotti, who had glued himself to Finn's shoulder.

"This is so unfair," complained Kurt as he leaned on the rail of the anchored ship watching the long boat full of his friends and family row into shore. "We should be down there with them."

"That's alright," said Blaine. "We can just stay here. Not there. Far, far away from there."

Kurt turned his head and shot an amused glance at Blaine, who leaning against the wheel fiddling with his sword. "And what, exactly, are you so scared of?"

"Let's see," said Blaine. "A random island with _Greek ruins_ that none of you have ever seen before show up. You, Rachel and Mercedes get shifty whenever somebody mentions magic and now you're father has actually taken people down to it to check it out. Gee, I wonder."

The gentle breeze that had been surrounding them picked up a little and Blaine shivered, tugging his jacket closed. "Also, I'm cold."

Kurt frowned and turned so that he was facing Blaine properly, crossing his arms. "We get shifty?"

"Yes!" Blaine flailed his sword for emphasis and nearly hit himself in the face with the blade. Kurt raised an eyebrow. "What did you three _do_? Raise somebody from the dead."

Kurt laughed. "You're amazing, Blaine. You think I'm magic?"

"I don't know. Is that weird?"

Kurt stared at him. "Yes."

"Oh," said Blaine. "Well, yeah, okay. I'm unsurprised."

Kurt smiled at him and adjusted his jacket. "Come on, we should practice," he unsheathed his sword. "Then I can at least _feel_ useful."

Blaine sighed and stood up straight, running a hand through his curls. "Alright. Eyes on the shoulders, right?"

"Right," said Kurt. He bent his a little and raised his sword, nodding at Blaine. "Ready?"

A sudden burst of sharper wind came out of nowhere, knocking them off their feet and sending them both flying down on the main deck where they landed flat on their backs. "Oh, my God," Kurt groaned. He pushed himself to his feet sheathing his sword and offering and hand to Blaine, who took it sliding his own back into place. "What the Hell was that?"

"Wind," said Blaine helpfully, sliding his own sword back into it's sheath and resting a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Yeah," said Blaine. He looked down at the sword in his belt. "One day, these things are actually going to impale somebody. I really don't understand how we aren't dead yet."

Kurt laughed. "I was on the _Champion_ for a while. Santana Lopez landed on one that went straight through her. Commodore Sylvester told her to walk it off."

Blaine's eyes widened. "What happened to her?"

"To Santana?" Kurt shrugged. "She walked it off."

Blaine stared at him and Kurt laughed again at the expression on his face (which was probably a little ridiculous) before he froze, eyes locked on something over Kurt's shoulder, before he froze, hands flying to his sheathed sword. "Blaine," he hissed, "don't move."

"Kurt, what-" But Kurt's eyes had widened and suddenly he had his left arm gripping tightly around Blaine's waist tugging him around and holding him behind him as he whipped out his sword with his right hand pointing it at-

Wait, _what_?

There was a girl standing on deck. She was thin and tall with pointed features, dark hair and wide ocean-colored eyes. She was wearing what looked like a belted white sheet that was a length that suggested she and Rachel might have planned there outfits together. (You know, without the kitten print.) She also had oddly blue-tinted skin.

"Um, Kurt," said Blaine, eying the girl, who had her arm raised like a debutante showing off a new engagement ring and a smirk on her face, warily, "how did she get onto the ship?"

"Not the time, Blaine," said Kurt through gritted teeth.

The girl tilted her head to the side almost sweetly and flexed her hand.

A sharp blast of wind knocked the two of the, backwards. Blaine's head slammed against the rail of the ship, his vision swimming and black creeping in at its corners.

Through the blur he could see the girl walking closer to them as she spoke in a language that he didn't understand. As Blaine blinked in and out of consciousness Kurt's tight grip around his waist slackened and he heard the sound of a sword clattering to the deck.

The world went black.

**You all hate me now. Yes, you do. :D**

**So, yeah. About that not updating since just after OS and then hitting you in the face with a gigantic cliff hanger thing after promising to update soon… **_**Who wants I'm Sorry cookies? I do!**_

**If you're wondering why you can't seem to find a character that fits the description of Blue Chicky, it's because she doesn't exist in Glee world. However, she does exist in fiction, just not in something that you'll need to have seen or watched to understand. (Oh the sense that I do not make. I'd like to thank the Academy. You hate me. You really hate me!)**

**Next chapter: We reveal the mysterious identity of Blue Chicky, Pavarotti Pavs and I unleash the full extent of my nerd on everything you know and love!**


	6. In Which there are No Rocks

**So everyone kept pointing out that there was a Starship joke in the last chapter, and I went back and reread it. "Walk it off." How did I not realize that one? It's actually a reference to the Gym Coach in Russel Fish. He's ridiculous. He's probably Sue's cousin.**

**Though, now that's it's been mentioned, Sue is probably also one of Taz's ancestors or something. (Oh, that thought is terrifying. The three of them should have Space and Time traversing family reunions, with crumpets and top hat fascinators.)**

**Also, everyone thought Blue Chicky/the Blue One/That-Avatar-Chick (Nyota, you are my new best friend; I don't care if you're anonymous) was from **_**Doctor Who**_**. I've um, I've only seen one episode of that. The werewolf one. With the diamond. **

**Nightmares for life.**

**Though, still on Blue Chicky and theories. There is one of you out there who is nerdier than I am, and I can't believe you got that close. You know who you are. All shall be revealed.**

**So, since the season is over (**_**IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou**_**) I vote we all start theorizing about Blaine's tranfer.**

**Because it's inevitable (, Bitch.)**

**I'm wearing a halo right now. In case you wanted to know. I've accessorized it with some fluffy wings.**

**Also, something monumental has happened. That's right. I, Felicty A. Holmes, have a Tumblr (That I am shamelessly plugging).**

**I just broke the universe. (No, I didn't. Shut up, Fee.)**

**The Tumblr is, creatively enough, Felictyaholmes. Tumblr. Com. (No spaces)**

**So… yeah. Yeah, that's pretty much it.**

**Enjoy my late chapter?**

Blaine's back was just never going to be okay again.

He had woken up on the floor (again), next to Kurt (again) in what was probably Mother Nature's equivalent of a cup, because they were a giant stone basin with high, smooth walls and an open ceiling. There was no other visible entrance.

And stone was apparently more painful to sleep on than wood.

Go figure.

"Kurt?" Blaine crawled over to the where the other boy was sprawled out on the ground and shook his shoulder. "Kurt, wake up."

Kurt didn't move. Blaine shook him harder. "Kurt, come on!"

Kurt's eyes flew open and suddenly Blaine was crashing into the ground (_Oh, ow_) and being pinned down by a knee on his chest and a hand on his collar, Kurt's fist raised threateningly. "I—Oh. Sorry, Blaine." Kurt rolled off of him blushing slightly and adjusted his hair.

"It's fine," sighed Blaine. "At this point I'm not even surprised anymore."

Kurt flushed even brighter red and looked away.

Blaine glanced at the surrounding walls curiously. "So… Where are we?"

Kurt stared at him. "Oh, I don't know, Blaine. Let me just check the _magic compass I keep in my hair_-"

"Yeah, okay." Blaine sighed and ran a hand through his curls. "Stupid question."

"Just a bit." Kurt offered him a weak smile and tugged on his sleeves. He sighed and looked up at the sky. Clouds were passing over the sun at an alarmingly fast rate. "Oh—On the ship, before…"

"Yeah, about that," said Blaine. "I would really like it if I could _not _die, so you should probably tell me what's happening. Just in case I say something stupid and get us killed."

"Yes." Kurt paused and took a breath, like he was searching for a way to explain himself. "When you were talking to me about… acting… strangely. About magic."

Blaine groaned.

"No, no, no!" Kurt hurried to interject. "I don't mean—Well, _no_, I do mean—magic just really isn't the right word, you know?"

Blaine sighed. "This is my life. I've been kidnapped twice in the past month and now I'm dealing with Not Magic. What did I do?" He looked up at the sky. "This is punishment for jumping on all of those couches, isn't it?"

"Blaine, listen—_What_?" Kurt looked bemused for a minute. "No, you know what? I don't think I actually want to know." Kurt took a breathe, like he was preparing himself to say something gigantic.

"Alright, so, Blaine," Kurt gave his most winning smile. "How much do you know about Greek mythology?"

There was a beat of silence and then-

"No."

"No?"

"No." Blaine sighed and put his head in his hands. "I'm dreaming. I'm just a crazy person, or no, maybe Wes knocked me out with his gavel and this is a bizarre, concussion induced nightmare-"

Kurt patted his back comfortingly. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"I know… I should just stop asking questions. The answers will never be okay."

Kurt patted his head comfortingly, smoothing a hand over his curls after to push them back into position. "Anyways, Greek Gods-"

"Are actually real and you're secretly one third water nymph?" Blaine chimed in, lifting his head. When he was met with Kurt's confused green eyes he shrugged. "I'm sorry. I just think your stories would make great guessing games," he paused, "or maybe drinking games. Whiskey every time something gets ridiculous."

Kurt shook his head smiling. "We should probably avoid the drinking games. Everyone would be drowning by the four-minute mark, but you were right." Kurt paused. "Half right. I'm not a water nymph. That would be ridiculous and I'd probably have an aversion to clothes."

Blaine very pointedly refused to let his eyes glaze over.

"But, yeah, Greek myths. Those are real." Kurt raised his arms and gave his fingers an exaggerated wiggle. "Surprise!"

"Right," said Blaine. "Well, points. Three weeks ago I thought I was going to be going to balls with my mother, so we can safely say that I saw none of this coming."

"You know," said Kurt, "you'd be surprised how often people say that to me."

"What? That, specifically?"

"Well, yes," said Kurt. "Puck's conquests are irrationally excited by us when they come on board. Sometimes they faint after they tell me that."

"Yeah," said Blaine. "That's definitely, because they're excited."

"So, Greek Mythology," Kurt plowed on. "I'm not actually sure how to explain this without sounding insane-"

"Somehow, I think we're passed the point where you have to be concerned about that."

"If we hadn't I don't think I would've let myself be kidnapped with you." Before Blaine could even begin to bring up some of the problems with that sentence Kurt was continuing on. "I've told you about Commodore Sylvester, Blaine?"

"Um…" said Blaine. "In passing, I think. Harpsichords?"

"One harpsichord," Kurt corrected, "but yes, that's her. She's a bit of a force."

"I'd gathered." Blaine scooted over so that he was sitting next to Kurt instead of in front of him on the hard stone ground. The clouds above now were much darker and thicker, though still rolling unbelievably fast. Blaine probably would have been dwelling on it a bit more, had it been a slightly more normal day.

Slightly, of course, because nothing in Blaine's life was ever particularly normal anymore.

"What about her?" Blaine nudged Kurt's shoulder with his own.

"About two months ago she asked Mercedes, Rachel and I to meet her at the Deserted Rock in the Middle of the Ocean at dawn." Kurt paused. "Well, no, actually, she asked Mercedes and I to meet her at the Deserted Rock in the Middle of the Ocean at dawn. Rachel just came to escape her boy drama."

"Okay, wait," said Blaine. "Two things before you go further."

"Shoot," said Kurt.

"Alright, one. How on Earth did you find the right deserted rock? There must be hundreds just from here to Tortuga—I mean, I'm assuming there are, at least—and you didn't even have an area to look in-"

"No, no!" Kurt waved him off indignantly. "The Deserted Rock in the Middle of the Ocean is an_ island_."

"An isl—Who _named_ that thing?"

"Finn and Puck discovered it," said Kurt with a tone of fond exasperation. "Finn wanted to call it Drizzle, but Puck told him that description was more bad ass."

"Alright, fine. I can accept that." Blaine ran a hand through his hair. "Secondly, how did you get there? I'm assuming your father didn't take the whole ship to drop you off for this."

"Well, originally he didn't want me to go," said Kurt. "We took one of the row boats and snuck out in the middle of the night."

"You _what_?"

"I felt terrible about it after," said Kurt guiltily. "I probably really worried him. Taking a tiny boat out into the middle of the ocean with no warning."

Blaine wasn't even going to comment.

"When we met up with her," Kurt continued, "she explained to us that the Gods were real and that she'd been friends with them for years. There was apparently a gift exchange a few Christmases ago-"

"And you just accepted that?" asked Blaine. "Without any evidence?"

"You mean the way you are right now?"

"Kurt," said Blaine seriously, "I was attacked by a strange blue woman, knocked unconscious and trapped in a giant stone cup. I have enough evidence. I could win a court case."

"Yes, yes," Kurt concedes. "Well, as I was saying, we believed her right away. Commodore Sylvester is just one of those things that you learn not to question. The most important thing actually."

"Really," said Blaine faintly. "I can't wait to meet her."

"Oh, God. Yes you can." Kurt shook his head. "Anyways, apparently part of our fleet has angered the Gods."

"What?"

"I know," said Kurt. "I think it might be somebody on _the Titan_. The crew isn't exactly comprised of long-term allies."

"What do you mean?" asked Blaine.

"Well, most of them were part of different ships that Captain Beiste defeated. She gives her prisoners a choice surrender and join her crew or she'll—I don't even know. Her threats never make any sense."

"So, you think it's one of them?" asked Blaine.

"Yes," Kurt nodded thoughtfully. "There are really two in particular, but—It doesn't matter." He shook his head. "It isn't really important right now."

"So," said Blaine, "what happened? Why are they so angry?"

"I don't really know," Kurt admitted. "I think someone's stolen something—Commodore Sylvester said she got warnings about 'things being left in their place', but I'm not really sure."

"And what did she need you for?" asked Blaine.

"She said she'd called us there, because we were her trusted two and also Rachel," explained Kurt. "She wanted us to keep an eye on things; let my father and Carole know what was going on as well. We were originally just supposed to be looking out for anyone acting strangely, hiding something, performing bizarre rituals in dead languages—but then we found your ship. That night with you there was the first time the storms started coming in so fast. Mercedes didn't believe me, but I knew there was something weird about it."

"And now?"

"And now apparently the Gods think we did something," said Kurt. "I'll probably have to fight someone."

"Great," said Blaine. "Fantastic. You do that. I'll hide under a rock."

"There aren't any rocks to hide under here," said a new voice from behind them, "and I think I'd much rather be keeping an eye on you at all times, Anderson."

Blaine and Kurt leaped up in unison, whirling around (Blaine a little less gracefully and with a bit of stumbling), and Blaine's jaw dropped.

"Whoa…"

"So, Hummel," the man smiled wickedly, "do you want to explain why my siblings and I have been chasing you around the Caribbean, or should I just kill you now?"

**Next time I will update quicker!**

**(No I wont. That's a lie. Silly readers, thinking I'm not actually a horrible person with no work ethic.)**

**My friend Dianna throwing balled up paper at my head and hovering over my shoulder while I type is the only reason you even got this poorly written update today. Everyone say, "Thank you, Dianna, for this badly written chapter" and get your Chillin'-With-the-Umbridge smiles on. I assure you that they are necessary when speaking to her.**

**I love you, Di. Please don't feed my spleen to your gecko.**

**Anyways, the good news is that as much as I dislike this chapter, it's the one I was struggling to get through. The reason being that there was no action. I mean, it's an important chapter (foreshadowing, foreshadowing, base of plot, etc.), but it's all talk. I don't do well with endless streams of dialogue and characters in a confined space. I think my drama teacher would call that Talking Heads (like the weird ones, in the **_**Prisoner of Azkaban**_** movie. That DVD menu terrifies me every time I fall asleep watching it. Damn it, Alfonzo) and then scold me and perform rituals over me to remove my Improv Curse.**

**Gosh, I'm dramatic today.**

**Also, I lied. Queen Periwinkle's identity did not come into play this chapter. I apologize. It's because I suck. Also, because it's coming up next chapter. Which will be much better.**

**(I think.)**


	7. Zephyrus in the Sky at Night

**So, come on, you guys. How fast was that update? ;)  
**

**I've decided that I wish I could draw so that I could show you all of the fabulous (and also Rachel) 16****th**** century, upper-class Englishmen and pirate outfits, but all I'm capable of drawing is hearts and for some strange reason incredibly detailed wild boars. MY FASHIONABLE CREYS. I will never be Alexander McQueen Version Awkwardly-Tall-Ginger-Girl point 0.**

**AND I GOT MY BRACES OFF! (Nobody cares.)**

**So, according to King Brad, the High and Mighty God of Sanity on **_**Glee **_**(who's kingdom and Immortal Domain are fighting a losing battle with the Murphinator) Chris, Cory and Leah aren't leaving when they graduate! YAY FINCHELURT! Which sounds like finch alert.**

**I would like to be alerted if there was a finch in the area. I would prance around like Snow White and serenade it with **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** or the **_**Backstreet Boys**_**. Then I would accept an apple from a strange old woman.**

**And die.**

**But then I would be brought back to life by a man I'd met once who makes a habit of stalking women when they're doing chores, and kissing dead people.**

**Just saying. :D**

Blaine stared open-mouthed. The man in front of them was attractive (no, like, _really _attractive) with blonde hair, grey-green eyes and apparently no reason to wear a shirt.

Also wings.

Big, fluffy white ones. With feathers. They were the reason Blaine was staring slack-jawed at him.

(Well, mostly. He_ was_ a teenage boy, after all.)

"Who are you?" asked Kurt, who's hand had flown to the place on his belt where his sword would usually be.

Except it wasn't, because they'd been kidnapped by Dame Blueberry McOcean-Skin. Fantastic.

When this was all over Blaine was going to move far, far in land and get himself a secluded shack and a team of attack dogs.

"Zephyrus," the man smiled taking a step forwards. "You may have heard of me."

"Of course," said Kurt automatically at the same time Blaine said, "No. Should I have?"

Zephyrus paused and stared at him curiously, raising an eyebrow. Blaine squirmed uncomfortably under his disbelieving gaze and Kurt sighed. "We're going to die," he muttered. "We're going to die and I haven't even captained a ship yet."

Zephyrus walked up to Blaine, crossing his arms and staring at him levelly. Blaine looked back at him, blinking nervously. After a few minutes Zephyrus snorted and dropped his arms. "I'm not sure if you're brave or stupid, Anderson. Most people wouldn't tell a God they don't know who he is."

Oh. _Oh._

Well, yeah. Okay.

That certainly explained the wings.

"I am Zephyrus," he said stepping away and sweeping his arms out grandly. "The West Wind," he finished in a booming voice.

There was a pause.

Blaine stuck his hand out. "I'm Blaine." Zephyrus stared at him incredulously again. Kurt swatted his hand down.

"So not the time for humor," muttered Kurt.

"I thought it might lighten the atmosphere."

"Blaine, you know I think you're amazing, but we're going to need to talk about what is appropriate in certain social situations."

"Social situations? Do you frequently hang out with winged Gods?"

"Not at the moment, but something tells me I'll be doing it a whole lot more now."

Zephyrus quirked a smile. "You know, Anderson," he said, running a hand through his hair thoughtfully. "I think I like you."

"Oh my God," muttered Kurt. His eyes were wide. "Oh my God you're going to die. You're going to get hit with a discus and your blood is going to make a flower and then they're going to name it after you, because you'll be _dead_."

"That," said Blaine, looking at him curiously, "was oddly specific."

Kurt sighed, putting a hand to his forehead and brushing a piece of hair off of it. "Oh, Blaine, you're a gentlemen. Don't you _read_?"

Blaine thought about it. "Sometimes, I throw paper in the air."

Kurt stared at him, blank-faced. "You're lucky you're so charming."

"Thank you!"

"Bored now," chimed Zephyrus. He turned to Kurt and fixed him with a steely gaze, unfolding his wings and extending them in what must have been an attempt to appear more threatening. "So, Hummel, I'll ask you one more time." He raised an arm grandly once more. "Why have I been chasing you across the oceans?"

Kurt stared back at him, stone faced. _He's disturbingly good at that._ "You know, if you'd come in literally 5 minutes earlier you would have heard me explain it to Blaine already. I don't_ know_ why we're here. I don't _know_ what's missing. Somebody in our fleet screwed up. I don't see why the rest of us have to be held accountable for-"

"Missing?" Zephyrus cut him off, arching an eyebrow. "Aha! So you've_ stolen_ something?"

"No!" Kurt's hands flew to his hair, nearly running through it before he stopped himself (Blaine wasn't going to point out that it was already windblown and messy—not that he minded) and clenched his fists, lowering them shakily. "We haven't done anything. All I know is that the Gods are angry and that somebody in the fleet did something to bother them."

"Right," said Zephyrus, crossing his arms and folding his wings in tandem. He shifted his weight to one foot and gave Kurt his best bitch face (and _Oh my God,_ thought Blaine. _If this guy wasn't immortal he'd be dead by now_), before continuing in a very put upon voice, "and I believe you."

Kurt pursed his lips and flexed his fists a little. Blaine shifted himself behind him discreetly. Zephyrus turned amused eyes to him and he flushed a little, gazing down at his tattered brown boots.

"We didn't do anything," said Kurt insistently. "Now- Let us go!" He raised his hand hand with a commanding flourish and attempted to look down at Zephyrus (quite a feat, since they were almost exactly the same height).

Zephyrus snorted. "With-holding information isn't going to do anything. You're part of a traitor's fleet and you're in cahoots with the Andersons!" He flung a finger out dramatically, pointing at Blaine.

Kurt narrowed his eyes curiously. "What do the Andersons have to do with anything?"

"I can't believe he just said cahoots," muttered Blaine.

Zephyrus threw back his head and laughed exaggeratedly. "You dare continue with your insolence, pale mortal?"

Blaine tilted his head to the side and cut in before a bristling Kurt could respond. "You don't actually know, do you?"

Zephyrus's cheeks and wings tinted pink. "Quiet, Anderson."

"Dude, you've been owned. Give up." Blaine and Kurt spun around again to see the source of the newest voice, Blaine tripping again (those boots? Falling apart and unhelpful. Blaine gave it about a week until Kurt made him borrow a pair to replace them—provided they survived, of course) and falling back a little into Kurt who caught him with an exasperated sigh and a small, fond smile.

"I haven't been owned!" said Zephyrus indignantly.

"No," said the owner of the new voice. "No, you have." He was a tall guy, muscular, with cold icy blue eyes and what looked like a sailor's uniform, done all in black and silver. "I would give up, you know, pre-CZF." He smirked, shrugging his shoulders with his arms crossed. On his left was a short boy with long, white-blonde hair, grey eyes and a silver tunic, and on his right was the Blue girl from the ship.

"Oh my God," murmured Blaine, pressing in closer to Kurt and clinging to his jacket. "Jesus Christ—It's her. Kurt, she's going to rip my heart out and feed it to Pavarotti."

"Pavarotti isn't here, Blaine," Kurt told him soothingly, "but let go of the jacket before _I_ do that to you. This is Italian."

Blaine unlatched the fabric and clung tightly to Kurt's entire arm instead. Kurt blinked down at him and sighed.

"What in Zeus' name," asked the boy on the left, "is CZF?"

"Continual Zephyrus Failure," smirked the tall one. "Do you like it? I cam up with all on my own."

"Yeah, Boreas," snorted the girl. "You're a regular genius. The next Shakespeare, really."'

The guys (Boreas, apparently) glared at her and stuck out his tongue childishly, framing his face with his hands and making flaily gestures with his fingers.

The girl snorted. "I actually cannot believe you're the most well know. Boreas the Great North Wind—Eternal toddler appearing as an overly-buff sailor. Wont the ladies come flocking."

"Eurus," said Zephyrus warningly, "don't start anymore fights. You know how Dad gets about those."

Eurus looked indignant, but crossed her arms and pouted her pale purple lips, looking away from them with a roll of her eyes.

"Eurus?" Kurt whispered incredulously in Blaine's ear. "I could've sworn all the winds were-"

"Men?" snapped Eurus. When Kurt's eyes widened a little she continued. "Yeah, I can here you, pretty boy. Sound carries on wind. I'm the East Wind. See how that could work?" She angled her head forwards and glared at them, giving the effect of a charging pull.

Blaine squished himself a little closer to Kurt, who in turn wrapped an arm around his waste. "I'm sorry," said Kurt. "It's not that you aren't lovely—you're very pretty, really, I would never think you were a man. I was just confused, because all the books-"

"Neglected to mention that I was a chick?" Eurus eyes were blazing grey, wind was starting to pick up in the stone basin and a thick fog seemed to be rolling out of nowhere.

"Oh, here we go again," muttered Boreas with a roll of his eyes.

"I just told her not to start any fight," said Zephyrus. "Notus, didn't I just tell her not to start anymore fights?"

"Shut up, Zephyrus," muttered the blonde boy. Notus, Blaine supposed. The South Wind by process of elimination, Blaine supposed. "Nobody cares."

"Eurus the Unfavorable one!" Eurus was shrieking as the clouds got thicker. Kurt gripped Blaine tighter trembling a little and Blaine felt himself fill with dread when he realized that Kurt was just as terrified as he was. "Nobody wants Eurus! Nobody cares about Eurus! Nobody can be bothered to check the fucking_ gender_ of Eurus before they start telling stories! _He's_ just the foggy one who gets all the shepherds lost! Fuck shepherds! I want-"

"EURUS!" A voice boomed from what was seemingly the sky itself.

Eurus cut off mid-rant eyes widening and skin paling a little. The wind _whoosh_ed out of the basin carrying the fog with it, and leaving Blaine and Kurt clinging together, their foreheads pressed against one another from shielding their faces from the sting of the cold air.

"F-Father," she called nervously.

"What's the rule, Eurus?" The voice was so loud it rattled the walls of the cave. Kurt winced and pressed closer to Blaine, who took one hand off of Kurt's arm to wrap it around his shoulders, still shaking a little.

"I'm sorry, Father." Eurus looked wounded, staring at her feet.

"WHAT'S THE RULE?"

Kurt squeaked and Blaine squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Don't do anything without orders, sir," Eurus managed.

"Get back to work, all of you!" the voice rumbled. "Give it until morning and try for answers again."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, father."

"Yes, father."

"Sure thing, Dad!"

There was long stretch of silence Blaine opened his eyes to see Kurt doing the same. The stared at each other for a few seconds before flushing and moving away. Feathery white wings caught Blaine's eye over Kurt's shoulder. Zephyrus was still with them.

"Do you have a light with you?" he asked. "A candle—Or a lantern, maybe?"

"Sorry," said Kurt irritably. "I guess I should make a habit of carrying them while I'm being _kidnapped_." He snorted and crossed his arms. "I'm new to being a hostage." He waved his hand around the cave.

"I'm not," chimed Blaine.

Zephyrus smiled fondly at him, his eyes twinkling, stepping in front of Kurt, who looked indignant. He took the pendant from around his neck and held it out. Kurt began making frantic negative gestures with his hand in the background and mouthing 'No' exaggeratedly. "It's a gift from Apollo. A piece of Helios' sun chariot. We're actually pretty good friends when we're not fighting over mortals." He gestured with his hand. "Take it." Kurt shook his frantically.

Blaine held his hand out and grasped the pendant, turning it over in his hand. "Thanks."

Kurt slapped his own forehead.

"Why are you giving this to me?" asked Blaine.

"It's about to get pretty dark in here. Trust me, you'll want it. You can give it back later- or not." He flashed a handsome smile before glancing up at the opening where his siblings had disappeared. "Whatever you do," he said in a low warning voice, stepping closer to them and looking Blaine directly in the eyes, "don't give him a fake story."

"Why?" asked Blaine. "What if we don't have a real one?"

"As soon as he gets an answer," said Zephyrus seriously, "he'll kill you."

And then he gone, flying dramatically upwards towards the sky.

"Well," said Blaine weakly, "I definitely want to tell his Dad what's happening now."

Kurt sighed. "Oh, Blaine."

There was a loud groaning sound from overhead and they looked up to see a large back shape moving steadily across the ceiling of the basin. "They're sealing it off," muttered Kurt. "What do they think we're going to do? Fly out? We can't all choose to appear with ridiculous wings." He crossed his arms huffily and Blaine felt the strange urge to cuddle him, except he thought Kurt might punch him if he tried.

When the ceiling was completely covered (presumably by a giant rock) the cave was pitch black. There was a few seconds spent in the eerie darkness and then the pendant in Blaine's hand lit up suddenly, glowing a bright white and causing Kurt and Blaine to blink frantically as their eyes adjusted to the intense light.

"Well," said Blaine, rolling it over in his palm, "that's going to be helpful."

"I wish you hadn't taken it," Kurt murmured, moving to stand next to Blaine and taking it out of his hand to put hang it around his neck. He tugged lightly on it and then sighed before sitting down on the ground.

"Why?" asked Blaine. He sat down cross-legged in front of Kurt. "It's dark. We need a light."

"Blaine, you don't take gifts from Gods lightly." Kurt paused, apparently mulling over his choice of words carefully. "Zephyrus is _interested_ in you. You really don't want that."

"I—what?" Blaine stared down at the pendant hanging from his neck and then back at Kurt, wide-eyed. There was no way—Wouldn't he have noticed? "No."

"Yes," said Kurt seriously. "That necklace isn't charity. He likes you. Well, no." Kurt paused to consider it. "He's a God, so honestly, he's probably madly in love by now."

"_What_?" Blaine repeated. "Kurt, there's no way-"

"Blaine," said Kurt seriously, "look at yourself. You're gorgeous. That's all they need to know before they decide they want to kidnap you, or have horse children with you."

"No, I'm sorry." Blaine stared at him. "That one needs explaining."

"The kidnapping?"

"The _horse children_. I am so over kidnapping at this point that it isn't even funny."

"Zephyrus and Podarge—she's a harpy-"

"Kurt!" Blaine looked at him, scandalized.

"What? No! No, I mean she's an actual _harpy_." Kurt shook his head, looking amused. "They had blessed, talking war horses together."

Blaine blinked at him. "I don't think it's physically possible for me to _do _that. God or not."

Kurt sighed. "It's just an example, Blaine."

Blaine was now panicking. "So, wait, he likes me-"

"Loves you," corrected Kurt.

"-and when I took the necklace I basically-"

"Yup."

"Jesus Christ."

"Okay, Blaine, after today I think we've established that's he's going to be about as much help to you as Finn would be to a pair of glass slippers." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Give me awhile to come up with a new exclamatory statement," muttered Blaine. "My world has been rocked. Yesterday I was kidnapped by you, today I'm kidnapped by a crazy Wind God who think he's in love with me.

"And feels like he needs wings," put in Kurt.

"And apparently no shirt," muttered Blaine.

Kurt's mouth fell open and then he glared at him.

"What?" asked Blaine. "Like you didn't notice!"

"Of course I di- That's not the point, Blaine!" Kurt flailed his arms out.

"Then what is?"

Kurt grumbled a little and flopped on his back wincing as his head smacked the rock floor. "Ow," he muttered.

"Are you okay?" asked Blaine, reaching out a concerned hand.

"Yes," snapped Kurt batting his hand away. "Now, don't talk to me. I'm sleeping."

"Sleeping?" asked Blaine incredulously. "It hasn't even been half an hour since we woke up!"

"And in that time I was very stressed out," said Kurt seriously, rolling over onto his side. "If you don't want to sleep go take your light over there and start planning the colors of the nursery for your horse babies."

"Kurt!"

"I told you! I'm sleeping!"

* * *

Neither of them actually slept.

Within ten minutes Kurt was rolling over. "Blaine," he whispered, "what do you think happened to my Dad, and to Finn and Rachel and Mercedes and-"

"Whoa, Kurt," Blaine turned so that they were facing each other, untucking the pendent from his shirt so that the light shines between them.

"Sorry," muttered Kurt. "It's just that we're here, so where are they?"

"They came onto the island-"

"The island," said Kurt hysterically, "where Aeolus lives in the sky and sounds like Rachel when I stole her crocodile dress!"

"You what?" asked Blaine incredulously.

"I _had _too," said Kurt. "They were embroidered Blaine. Embroidered silver crocodiles on burgundy velvet. It was offensive."

"What did you do with it?" asked Blaine curiously.

"I ritually sacrificed it and fed its burnt remains to Finn, to help him absorb the strength and grace of the crocodile," said Kurt seriously.

Blaine raised an eyebrow.

Kurt laughed awkwardly. "I'm kidding."

He tilted his head for added effect, trying to fight back the grin twitching at the corners of his lips.

"Blaine, you know I'm not being ser-" Kurt stopped his nervous rambling, eyes widening comically before smacking Blaine's shoulder lightly. "You're messing with me!"

"You're being hilarious! I couldn't resist!"

"I'm in crisis mode, Blaine. This is a serious issue. You have to resist!"

"Maybe you should calm yourself down by sending a fur coat to the Gods."

"Blaine!"

"Kurt!"

Kurt smacked his shoulder again, before bursting out laughing, rolling onto his back with a large smile on his face. "Thanks," he said seriously, "for trying to calm me down." Blaine smiled and reached an arm out, patting his forehead. Kurt batted it away and stuck his tongue out childishly. "Really, though. Do you think they're okay?"

"Honestly?" asked Blaine. Kurt nodded. "I think… I think that your Dad is terrifying and… and the only person I can think of who could stand up to a Greek God and get away with it is him." He smiled reassuringly.

"And you," said Kurt.

"Me?" asked Blaine surprised. "I_ hid_ behind you."

"Blaine, you called him out on not knowing what was going on!" said Kurt. "Which, by the way, was completely dangerous," he admonished. "I can't believe he didn't tear you apart in a cyclone or something."

Blaine paled. "Oh my God, Kurt. Why would you even say that?"

Before Kurt could answer there was a loud echoing bang and the boys where shrieking a launching themselves at each other, clinging together in a bizarre, joint fetal position.

"What was that?" asked Kurt.

"Probably just the wind on the rocks," said Blaine nervously.

"Yes," said Kurt nodding. "Yes. I think." There was another bang, and he clutched Blaine tighter. "Maybe."

"Right." Blaine rubbed soothing circles on Kurt's back; his hazel-eyes were alight with panic. "It makes sense."

"Oh God," said Kurt, pulling back with a horrified look on his face. "There's no way that's it then."

Another bang and a loud _Squawk!_.

Blaine froze. "No way."

A final bang and then an explosion of the wall directly behind Kurt that had him shouting something unintelligible and slamming Blaine to the ground (again), lying on top of him to shield him from the flying debris as Blaine's hands flew up to do the same for the back of Kurt's head.

After about a minute Kurt rolled off of him and the two of them sat up slowly, wearily eying the source of the explosion. The dust cleared to reveal four women. The first was a pretty Latina girl in a red corset and and dress with her hair up and surprisingly undamaged. A tall blonde was linked to her by pinky. Her curly hair was threaded with beads and feathers and she wore a white dress and a vacant expression. A shorter blonde had Pavoratti perched on her shoulder and a grin on her face. Lastly was a thin, imperious looking woman, also blonde with hair cropped scandalously short, men's clothing and crossed arms.

"_Squawk_!" Pavarotti ruffled his feathers. "Blaine Anderson!"

Blaine sighed.

"Hummel," said the Latina girl. The girl next to her waved cheerfully and adjusted her leather belt.

"Santana," said Kurt curiously. "What are you doing here?"

Before Santana could answer the tall woman raise a hand. "Questions later. Introduce us to Anderson, Porcelain. If I did it now I would ruin my dramatic entrance." She lowered her arm and raised her chin superiorly. Blaine was already confused, so he figured things must be getting back on track.

"Of course, Commodore." Kurt got to his feet, pulling Blaine up with him. He gestured to the first two girls. "This is Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce." Brittany waved again and Santana winked at him. "Becky Jackson, the first mate of _the Champion_." The short girl saluted him, her short hair bouncing a little. "And this," Kurt smiled and shook his head. "This is the one woman nobody will ever forget, Commodore Sue Sylvester."

Sue looked at him, taking in his appearance with raised eyebrows. "The pleasure is all yours, curly."

Somehow, Blaine was certain, things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

**Give me a P! Give me an L! Give me an O! Give me T! Give me an A-D-V-A-N-C-E-M-E-N-T!**

**What does that spell?**

**Plot! –clap- Advancement! Plot! Plot! Advancement! Vancement? Plot-**

**I'm sorry. I promise my actual cheerleading routines are cooler than that.**

**At least I hope so, or our school teams are going to be mad at us. **

**The story Kurt referenced was **_**Hyacinthus**_**. If you don't know it, don't worry. Here is my handy summary. –grand arm gesture-**

**Zephyrus: I am romantically attracted to Hyacinthus and his exceptionally flowery name that would get him beat up if he was attending Elementary school in North America.**

**Apollo: I am also attracted to this incredibly attractive man! Attraction! I think I shall teach him discus!**

**Hyacinthus: Yay, terrifying metal frizbees!**

**Zephyrus: I am jealous. I will blow this discus at your head and fatally injure you. That is the solution to my every problem.**

**Hyacinthus: I am dead! Also, my blood makes FLOWERS!**

**Apollo: I shall name this flower Hyacinth and it shall be mine and it shall be my hyacinth.**

**So now every time you see a hyacinth you can think of blood and injury! Yay! Injury!**

**And that's what you missed on… **_**Greece**_**!**

**(You know, if you're seriously behind the times and were frozen in an iceberg, fully intact and revivable from cave civilization until now. In that case, I commend you on your accelerated linguistic capabilities and think we may have to re-evaluate some of our old Cave Comedies.)**


End file.
